


Candid Countess

by Mellaaaa



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27679318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellaaaa/pseuds/Mellaaaa
Summary: Violet Crawley was like glass. Put her in the wrong hands and she’ll shatter.And shatter she did.Previously titled, “A Sweet Russian Melody.”(Cross-posted on FF.Net and Wattpad)
Relationships: Isobel Crawley/Richard "Dickie" Grey, Violet Crawley/Igor Kuragin, Violet Crawley/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. The Prince and The Countess

**Author's Note:**

> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=sKSDJmzsRAoI

_**In a whole 'nother life** _

_**There was this boy that I knew** _

_**He made me feel like a woman** _

_**We were young and silly fools** _

**•May 10, 1925•**   
  
_Dower House_

"Cousin Violet," the Dowager Countess looked up at the sound of her name. Nodding her head at Isobel, the woman continued. "You never did tell me the whole story between you and that Russian Prince." Tensing slightly at Isobel's statement, Violet daintily placed her teacup down.

"That's because I was never going to tell you the full story. Cousin Isobel." Isobel mirrored Violet's action, placing her teacup down to fold her hands in her lap.

"And why not?" The nurse persisted. Grasping her cane for support, Violet clenched her fingers around the handle as a multitude of emotions washed over her. It was like being wrong, it was a sensation she wasn't familiar with. "Cousin Violet?" Isobel called, knocking her back to reality.

The Dowager Countess glanced at Isobel, who sat with her legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded on her lap, and looking at Violet expectantly.

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?" The Dowager remarked dryly, but Isobel seemed unfazed by the attempt to throw her off.

"What happened in St Petersburg, 1874?" She pressed on. Violet sighed in exasperation.

"You know very well what happened that year. Prince Kuragin and I fell madly in love and we attempted to elope. But the Princess found out and pulled me out of the carriage by my hair," she recounted.

"Violet, you and I both know the story is not as simple as you tell," Isobel admonished gently. Violet sharply turned her head to glare at Isobel slightly.

"And how do you know that, pray?" The matriarch asked skeptically and Isobel chuckled under her breath.

"Because if it concerns you, it would be anything but simple," her cousin shot back.

"Of course, you would know, wouldn't you?" Violet said mockingly. Isobel shrugged her shoulders gracefully before looking Violet in the eyes again.

"I can see the way you tense or purse your lips every time that man is mentioned. You're never tense. Straight and rigid, yes. But never tense," Isobel concluded. Violet heaved a heavy sigh before answering.

"Thank you for that lovely observation, that was most kind of you," she mocked.

"I think it would be best if you really opened up about your experience in Russia. Maybe it won't ache as much when you tell someone." Isobel offered sweetly. Looking at her cousin's concerned face for a few moments, Violet sighed again and nodded her head slowly.

"Well," she began. "Patrick and I did not have the greatest marriage. I was pinned as the proper housewife and mother. While Patrick was off taking every woman he fancied into his bed. I could not do anything about it, it wasn't ladylike to confront your husband's mistress. My mother told me to turn a blind eye whenever there was another woman in his chambers." Isobel nodded, clearly entranced by the admission.

"Then he told me that he was expected in St Petersburg and I was to come with him. At first I couldn't believe my ears. Patrick hated it whenever I offered to accompany his trips. I believe those business trips were an excuse to meet... other people. As his wife I was also expected to attend since he was meeting the Tsar." Violet let a small smile crack her cool facade.

"It was the third day of the festivities when we first spoke to each other. He was a very proud man, and why shouldn't he be? A prince, very attractive, he had money, and all of this power his status brought. Igor had every right to be proud. And I loathe to admit it, but Princess Irina was a very beautiful woman." Isobel's eyes widened, it was unheard of that the Dowager Countess of Grantham would compliment a person she disliked. 

"When we started talking, he made me feel a certain way. A way I hadn't felt since I was an innocent virgin on my wedding night. He sang to me that night as well, told me that he would write songs at night whenever he couldn't sleep." Violet smiled wistfully at the memory.

**St Petersburg, 1874**

_"Lady Grantham," a smooth voice called from behind her. Violet Crawley craned her neck to find a dashing man staring right at her. The Countess quirked a corner of her lip up before bowing at the man in front of her._

_"Prince Kuragin," she returned. "How do you do?" She asked politely. The Prince merely smiled before taking her hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her knuckles. As his lips touched her gloved hand, Violet fought the oncoming rush of blood threatening to show on her cheeks._

_"I'm doing quite well Lady Grantham," the Prince smirked and Violet had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. "Say, how are the children doing?" The Countess' eyebrows rose in surprise._

_"Robert and Rosamund are doing very well, thank you for asking." She smiled politely, eyes darting around the room in search of Patrick. "So sorry, but I must find my husband," the Countess attempted to excuse herself._

_"You look beautiful Lady Grantham," the Prince continued, seemingly oblivious to everyone except for her. The remark caused the young Countess to stop in her tracks and compose herself. "The stories I hear of you don't do justice to your beauty." Finally turning to face him, the Prince was met with a quizzical look._

_"I beg your pardon?" The redhead asked, stepping closer to Igor. "What stories have you heard?" She could feel her chest tighten, silently praying she hadn't ruined her family's reputation with whatever story the Prince had heard._

_"Before you and the Earl of Grantham arrived, I had spoken to a Baron. I don't remember his name," he paused to grab champagne off a waiter's tray and handed one to her, "and he started to talk about all the aristocrats he had met in England." Violet nodded and took a dainty sip of her champagne._

_"Go on," she urged him._

_"He started to speak about the Earl of Grantham," Violet raised a delicate eyebrow at him but said nothing. "He said your husband was quite stoic, and it seems that he had never cracked a smile since he was a little boy. Those were his words, not mine." Igor added. The woman in question resisted the urge to roll her eyes._

_"And what does this Baron's words have to do with me, pray?" She asked, masking her impatience with a cool exterior. Igor chuckled at her bluntness._

_"He told us that-"_

_"Pardon me, us?" Violet interrupted. The Prince nodded._

_"Yes, us. I was with the Tsar and a few Englishmen as well." The Countess swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. The nerve of the man, listening to gossip by some Baron the he didn't even remember the name of? She nodded at him, wordlessly telling him to continue._

_"If I remember correctly, he mentioned how sharp your tongue was. How nobody was safe from your quips and comments." Violet sipped her champagne once more._

_"I... I hear a lot of that. I'm hardly shocked he told you. It's all I ever hear from people."_

_"He also mentioned how your beauty would capture anyone's attention. And I can't say I disagree. Have you noticed the leers sent your way the entire evening?" Suddenly uncomfortable with the change in conversation, Violet's eyes scanned the room once more in search of her elusive husband. Eventually finding him conversing with a few English aristocrats and who she could only assume was the Princess Kuragin._

_"I appreciate the compliment, but I really must be getting back to my husband," and with that, she turned away and started towards the Earl of Grantham._

_As she began to walk in the direction of the gathered Englishmen, she felt a hand wrap around her wrist._

_"Violet," the Prince whispered. The Countess froze at the mention of her Christian name."Is it possible for us to meet later tonight? At the rooftop." After gently pulling her wrist out of Igor's grasp, Violet shook her head._

_"I do not think so. We don't need rumors at the moment now, do we?We're both married and you know very well that regardlesst of social class, people will gravitate to gossip as a bee would to a flower." Igor chuckled at the redhead's remark and nodded his head._

_"Very well, Lady Grantham. It was a pleasure speaking to you tonight. I certainly hope it's not the last." Violet smiled politely and walked over to Patrick's side and against her judgement, began to contemplate the Prince's offer._

_If she were to accept, would that make it_ an affair? _She could still remember her Mama lecturing her about having a secret rendezvous. But this wouldn't be a rendezvous, would it?_

_Fortunately, her husband's voice knocked Violet out of her thoughts._

_"Oh! Darling, I was just speaking to Princess Kuragin," Patrick introduced, looking at his wife. Violet turned to face the Princess and her eyes widened ever so slightly. The Countess swallowed as she met the Princess' black eyes. "Princess Kuragin, this is my wife, Lady Grantham." Patrick said, placing a heavy_ hand at the small of her back.

_"Pleasure to meet you, Princess," Violet curtsied. Irina scowled at the redhead bitterly, her black hair tied up in a French twist._

_"Unfortunately I cannot say the same about you, Lady Grantham," she said, glaring at Violet before stalking away. Violet looked at the spot the Princess stood mere seconds ago, shocked. Patrick's fingers dug into her spine and she straightened her back even more (which was physically impossible thanks to the bloody corset) and glanced in Igor's direction._

_This was going to be a long night._

"I truly don't understand what it was I did," Violet mused silently.

"Hold on, so she didn't like you from the very beginning? What did you do to her?" Isobel interrupted, incredibly confused by Irina's treatment of Violet that night. Violet shrugged her shoulders in reply.

"Nothing that I'm aware of," she defended. "I was perfectly polite to her. We haven't spoken to each other directly up until Patrick introduced us."

"Did it ever occur to you that the Princess could have seen you mingling with her husband? Based on what Dickie and I have seen of her, she doesn't seem too keen on sharing." Isobel pointed out.

"Neither am I," the Dowager shot back. The nurse's eyebrows rose in alarm.

"What's that supposed to mean? You know it wouldn't kill you to not lead me on for once." Isobel snapped.

"On the contrary, I'm afraid I would keel over if I did." Violet answered haughtily. Isobel rolled her eyes at her cousins antics but said nothing on the matter.

"Anyway, are you certain she didn't see you speaking with the Prince and made certain assumptions about you two?" Violet shook her head in response.

"No, because the Princess was absolutely infatuated with my husband. She would rather dance with Patrick than Igor." The Dowager informed her.

"And Igor was infatuated with you." Isobel reminded her, but Violet let the comment slide.

"We're going off topic here, dear. The Princess absolutely adored Patrick, and she wouldn't let anyone or anything draw her away from his attention once it was focused on her."

"However, Dickie and I have seen first-hand how sharp Irina's mind is. Surely the two of you couldn't have kept her in the dark for that long," Isobel mused to herself.

"We obviously didn't. Were you off in another land when I told you that she literally yanked me from the carriage as if I were a prisoner of war?"

Isobel opened her mouth to speak, but soon closed it after no words came out.

Violet arched an eyebrow, as if daring Isobel to contradict her. Isobel shrugged her shoulders and gestured for her cousin to continue her tale.

**•tbc•**


	2. Grantham’s Late Earl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=sKSDJmzsRAo

_** Anyway, he was in a band ** _

_** Wrote love songs about me ** _

_** I wasn’t crazy ‘bout the words ** _

_** But the melody was sweet ** _

** •May 17, 1925• **

_ Cavenham Park  _

**10:40 PM**

“Darling?” Dickie called from his side of the bed. Isobel hummed in response. “Have you seen the post this morning?” He asked, holding up said post in the vanity mirror so his wife could see it. 

“No, I haven’t. Why do you ask?” The Baron stayed silent for a few moments before speaking again. 

“Do you remember that Russian Princess that seemed to absolutely despise Violet?” Isobel rose from her dressing table to sit next to her husband on the bed. 

“Yes, I vaguely recall Princess Kuragin,” she answered sarcastically, earning a small smile from Dickie. “The Prince on the other hand, felt the exact opposite...” Isobel trailed off. 

“That’s the diplomatic way to put it,” the Baron commented. Isobel said nothing as she rested her chin on his shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. Dickie smiled softly at her and kissed her forehead in return. 

“So, what made you ask about Princess Kuragin?” She asked, getting settled under the covers. “Surely you she didn’t just pop into your mind?” Isobel joked. Dickie shook his head and looked back at his wife. 

“No. She didn’t. But you might want to see this,” Dickie handed Isobel the post reluctantly before shedding his dressing robe and climbing into bed as well. He watched his wife carefully as her eyes flitted across the words. “Darling?” He called gently, placing his hand on her thigh. “Are you alright?” 

“She’s dead,” Isobel breathed. “I thought she was rescued from exile?” She looked up from the paper to Dickie, her eyes wide in disbelief. “I mean, we saw her alive a little less than a year ago and now she’s gone... it’s just so hard to wrap me head around.” Placing the paper on her lap, Isobel rested her head against the headboard and closed her eyes briefly. A thought had crossed her mind that forced her to sit back up, much to Dickie’s alarm. 

“What is it?” He asked worriedly, his eyes quickly scanning her form to make sure she was physically alright. Isobel nodded numbly before turning to face him fully. 

“Cousin Violet.” She grasped his hand resting on her thigh tightly and holding their intertwined fingers to her chest. “What is she going to think of this? You don’t think...” Isobel trailed off and Dickie looked at her expectantly. 

Her breathing started to come in swift pants as her thoughts raced through her head. She tightened her hold on Dickie’s hand as she tried bringing herself back down to Earth. 

“I don’t think what? What about Cousin Violet?” He pressed, his forehead creasing with worry as his wife tried to regain control of her breathing. “Isobel. Darling,” he said firmly. That seemed to do the trick as Isobel’s breathing evened out and her grip loosened on his hand. 

“You don’t think Cousin Violet saw this. Did she?” Isobel finally asked after some time. They were silent for a moment before Isobel gasped in horror. “She canceled our luncheon this morning. This means she must have seen it! I need to make sure she’s alright,” throwing the covers off her legs, Isobel wrapped herself in her dressing gown before looking for her coat. 

As she rummaged through her coat closet, she felt Dickie’s hands on her shoulders stop her. 

"Darling, it's late. You can check up on her tomorrow. Knowing your Cousin Violet, she wouldn't let the death of a former lover's wife get to her so." Isobel froze and turned to Dickie with wide eyes. 

"You knew about them?" Her husband shrugged in reply and she cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?" She asked while imitating his shrug, trying to recall whether or not she had accidentally let the secret slip with Dickie. Her brow furrowed in thought, and Dickie could not suppress a small chuckle. 

"I know what you're thinking," he commented, snapping Isobel out of her thoughts.

"You do?" Dickie nodded and gently took the coat out of her arms and led her back to the large four-poster bed. She sat on her side and looked at him expectantly. 

"Don't worry," he started. "You didn't let anything slip out if that's what you're thinking..." Isobel nodded sheepishly and gestured for him to continue. "Violet doesn't like getting close to men that aren't her husband, her son, or anybody in her family. I found it rather odd she willingly invited this rogue prince to her home. I figured they might have had history."

"Go on." Isobel said, in awe of the way her husband started to put the pieces together so quickly.

"So I got to thinking, and I know Violet doesn't interact with men since she was so used to her husband doing so. She would only do it unless it was needed, which was almost never. And this was a habit that she stuck to up until Patrick died." 

Isobel looked up at him alarm.

"Patrick Crawley?" Dickie nodded. "As in, that deformed man from a couple years ago?" She asked, horrified. To this, Dickie shook his head quickly. 

"Oh no, no, no. Not that Patrick Crawley. I'm speaking of her husband. The late Earl of Grantham," the Baron explained. Isobel nodded in understanding. Of course it would be her husband! "Did you not know the name of her husband?" Dickie questioned. 

"Cousin Violet doesn't like to speak of him. We've know each other for so long, and I think she's only mentioned him a handful of times. But she refers to him as 'Robert's father' or 'the late Earl of Grantham.' But never by his Christian name. I don' think she's ever said called him her husband whenever he's mentioned." Isobel mused, more to herself than to Dickie. "I'm sorry," she turned back to her husband. "Please continue." Dickie smiled softly and kissed her brow.

"And if I recall correctly my father told me of a scandal in St Petersburg, 1874. Their names weren't mentioned, but they were obviously high in rank for it to be in the papers. 'Lovers that went wrong.' That's what my Papa said of the scandal.

“Anyway, Robert told me of how his mother had acquired a fan from a Russian Prince back when she was traveling with her husband. Everything seemed to add up at the moment. Then she invited us to the Dower House once they found the Princess Kuragin,” he looked up from the bed to smile at her. 

“And your reaction to her death only strengthened my theory. So, have I hit the nail in the head?” Dickie asked, and Isobel could only nod in amazement. 

“Bravo!” Was all the Baroness could say at the moment. “You are indeed correct,” she laughed lightly, “I’m very impressed.” 

Dickie chuckled and nodded before climbing into bed and snuggling under the covers. 

“Now, I know you’re worried about how Violet is taking all of this, but it won’t do either of you any good if you were both exhausted. I’ll have Mead schedule luncheon with her if you wish.” Isobel shook her head at the offer as rested her head against Dickie’s chest. 

“No, I think it’s best if I go to her. I believe it would be easier on her if we spoke in her home.” 

“Very well then. Good night, Darling.” Dickie whispered as he turned his lampshade off, prompting Isobel to do the same. 

“Good night.”

** •May 18, 1925• **

_Dower House_

“Lady Merton,” Spratt announced as he entered the Dowager’s drawing room. Violet looked up at the butler only to find the warm face of Isobel Grey. 

“Spratt... will you fetch us some tea, then?” Violet requested, looking around Isobel to make eye contact with the butler. At Spratt’s nod, he left and closed the door. The Dowager sighed and looked at her cousin over her glasses. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I think you know why I’m here,” Isobel said, walking over to one of the chairs. Violet sighed heavily and placed her hands in her lap. 

“My dear, assumptions can lead to unwanted scandals so please, humor me. What caused you to drop by?” Isobel clenched her jaw at Violet’s response, but chose not to address the comment. 

“Did you see yesterday’s post?” She asked tentatively, not wanting to give her cousin a heart attack in case she hadn’t. 

“Oh, I have.” Violet replied nonchalantly. Isobel raised an eyebrow at her cousin, hoping she would elaborate. 

“So, you’ve read the entire post?” Isobel questioned, trying to keep her temper in check. 

“Yes, I did. It was most unfortunate.” The Baroness clucked her tongue. “Isobel, dear. Don’t cluck your tongue, you’re not a rooster,” Violet admonished. Isobel rolled her eyes and her temper broke her cool facade. 

“Oh for God’s sake, Cousin Violet! I’m talking about Princess Kuragin’s death!” Violet opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She gripped the handle of her cane for support as she slowly rose out of her chair. 

Making her way to the window, she faced the garden and breathed deeply. Isobel said nothing, merely watching Cousin Violet gain control of her emotions. The two were silent for a few moments, it was broken by Spratt, who had come in with the requested tea.

They waited another few moments for Spratt, who for once, was able to sense the palpable tension in the room. 

“Thank you Spratt,” Violet finally said. The butler bowed his head in respect before taking his leave, making sure to shut the door behind him. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Isobel asked, concern showing on her features. Violet nodded shakily in response before turning back to Isobel. “It must come quite as a shock to you.” 

“It’s a shock to us all,” Violet chuckled humorlessly. “But I’m not surprised. We all have to die at some point. She just got there before the rest of us,” she commented, her laugh bordering on hysterical. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Isobel offered, and Violet shook her head no. 

“There’s no point talking about it. I think it’s best to let the Princess rest peacefully in her grave. God knows how much she rested when she was still alive.” Violet refused. There was another deafening silence between the two women, and the Baroness decided to dispel the tension by bringing up the first thing to come to her mind. 

“Dickie told me about your husband,” Isobel blurted out. Her cousin froze at the mention of him and she could see the walls of the Dowager Countess being built back up. 

“What exactly did he say?” Violet asked coldly, her blue eyes piercing right through Isobel. 

“Not much, really. He only told me that you never really interacted with men since your husband normally did that sort of thing for you. And that it was a habit you carried on until his death and then you let Robert take over. Dickie also figured out that you and the Prince Kuragin had some history together,” Violet snapped her eyes up to Isobel at the last sentence, her chest tightening at the thought of another person figuring their past out after keeping it for so long. 

“Did you tell him anything?” The Countess ground out through gritted teeth, to which Isobel shook her head. 

“I didn’t, I swear to it. He figured it all out. I merely confirmed his suspicions. It felt rather silly leaving him in the dark when he’s already cracked it,” she shrugged. Violet only rolled her eyes in reply and looked intently at Isobel. 

“What do you want to know about him?” She finally asked, looking into Isobel’s eyes. 

“About... your husband?” Isobel asked, feeling like she was walking on eggshells around Violet. The Countess nodded. “Alright. You can tell me whatever you wish about him,” Isobel offered up. 

Adjusting her cane against the chair, Violet folded her hands in her lap and cleared her throat. 

“Patrick and I... weren’t the greatest match. He had money, I had aristocratic blood. It was a marriage of convenience. I was the daughter of a Baron, and my mother-in-law despised me for it. After Rosamund was born, we were able to meet in the middle. 

“In the beginning of our marriage, he saw me as a pretty little thing to have on his arm. You see, Patrick would bed anyone he fancied. Anyone except for me,” she smiled bitterly at the memory _.  _

** •June 2, 1860• **

_ The Abbey _

_ As Ginevra removed the final pin tucked in her hair, Violet heaved a sigh of relief. She could feels her temples throbbing from the pressure of her hair. She stared at herself in the mirror as the brunette finished her task.  _

_ Ginevra gathered Violet’s hair into one fist and started to separate the strands. As she started to plait her hair, Violet reached up to stop the young woman.  _

_ “Ginevra, you don’t have to do this tonight. I can handle it from here,” Violet dismissed. The shy lady’s maid nodded meekly in reply before quietly slipping out of Violet’s chambers. Sighing deeply, Violet reached for the brush in her dresser and started to run the brush through her red tresses.  _

_ Once she was satisfied with her hair, Violet plucked her dressing down from the back of her chair and wrapped it tightly around herself. Walking over to her bed, she grabbed the book lying on the nightstand and crawled under the covers.  _

_ Violet’s musings had wandered off to Jane Austen’s novels, trying to figure out where she could get the rest of her novels.  _

_ Two chapters into the book, a loud giggle interrupted her thoughts. Looking up sharply at the closed door, Violet swung her legs over the bed in an attempt to figure out where the giggle had come from.  _

_ “Patrick,” she heard a woman moan. Violet froze at the mention of her husband’s name and opened her door very slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was occurring. Violet felt her eyes widen at what she saw.  _

_ A very attractive woman was being pinned against the wall by none other than her husband! A strangled sob escaped Violet’s throat as she closed her door as quietly as she possibly could. The viscountess slid her back against the door and hugged her knees close to her chest.  _

_ She and Patrick hadn’t even consummated their marriage and here he was attempting to bed this woman he picked up from God knows where. And near her own bedroom, for goodness sake’s!  _

_ Violet felt the familiar tightening in her throat and felt the hot tears running down her face. She covered her mouth with one hand to stifle her broken sobs and press the other hand to her chest, trying to get herself to breathe.  _

_ Violet didn’t know how long she sat there, all she knew was that she had finally worn herself out. It seemed her husband and his lover had as well. When she finally found the strength to pick herself up from the floor, Violet crawled back under the covers of her bed, curled into a fetal position.  _

_ Her eyes grew heavier and Violet’s last thoughts were of Patrick before falling into a dreamless slumber.  _

_ God, she didn’t even love the man. But why did it hurt so much?  _

** •tbc• **


	3. A Good Little Housewife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SLIGHTLY NON-CONSENSUAL ACTS AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER. IT IS ITALICIZED AND ALSO AT THE END SO YOU CAN SKIP IT IF YOU WISH. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

_**Every time we go dancing** _

_** I see his straying eyes ** _

_** Gave him too many chances ** _

_** Pushed my gears too many times ** _

** •May 26, 1925• **

_ London, England  _

Rosamund Painswick opened the door to her London flat with a polite smile. “Hello sir,” she greeted a rugged man with greying locks and facial hair. The man nodded his greeting. “May I help you?” Rosamund asked. 

“Yes. I am looking for a Mrs Rosamund Painswick,” the man said in a thick Russian accent. The woman looked at him questioningly before nodding. 

“That is I,” she replied hesitantly. “Would... would you like to come in?” She offered, opening the door wider to accommodate the man. He nodded in thanks and stepped inside, examining his surroundings when he heard Rosamund shut the door. 

“How may I help you, Mr..?” 

“Kuragin. Igor Kuragin,” the Russian filled in for her. Rosamund nodded in thanks and continued. 

“Mr Kuragin. How might I be of assistance?” Rosamund asked, leading him into the kitchen. “Tea?” She offered, and he accepted. 

“That would be much appreciated. Thank you,” he replied. Igor waited for the tea to steep until he spoke again. “Do you know of a Mrs Isobel Crawley?” He had asked, sipping his tea silently. Rosamund placed her teacup and saucer down and looked at him quizzically. 

“You mean Isobel Grey?” She corrected, and Igor shrugged his shoulders. 

“Probably. Last time we met she was engaged to a Baron,” Igor supplied, and Rosamund nodded. 

“Then, yes. Isobel Grey. Why do you ask?” 

“An old friend, shall we say...” Igor trailed off. Gently placing his teacup and saucer on the table, he clasped his hands together behind his back. “Would you know how to get to the Crawley House?” Rosamund raised a brow in question. It was at that moment, Igor was struck with a sense of nostalgia.  _ Just like Violet _ , Igor thought to himself bitterly. 

"Crawley House?" The woman asked for confirmation, to which Igor nodded his head. "Nobody lives in Crawley House anymore," she paused to think for a second. "Yes, yes the Crawley family had closed the house up since Isobel Crawley moved out and had gotten married. So I wouldn't just going there." Igor looked at her in confusion, gingerly placing his tea down and rubbed his temples tiredly. 

"Do you know where Mrs Crawley lives now?"

"Yes, she lives in Cavenham Park," Rosamund said, leaning against the countertops. "How long have you known Mrs Crawley?"

"Not very long," the man admitted. "We've met thanks to the Countess of Grantham," Rosamund looked up at the title. 

"How do you know Lady Cora?" The widow asked, standing straight up again. 

"No, not the new Countess. I meant the Dowager Countess. Lady Violet," Igor cleared up, to which Rosamund nodded in understanding. 

"Well then, how do you know my mother?" She corrected. 

"We met years ago," he started, his accent getting thicker with every word. "I think it's safe to say that we were rather close. She and her husband were visiting my homeland and then we got acquainted. Unfortunately, something had happened that caused us to drift away after all this time."

Igor sighed deeply and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat before continuing with his story.

"We saw each other again two years ago. It was the first time I've seen her in fifty years. And she still has the same sharp tongue and mind since our last meeting," he mused quietly. Rosamund chuckled gently at his comment. 

"Well, that's Mama for you." She said, still chuckling. Igor looked up at her sharply. 

"Mama?" He asked lowly, and Rosamund nodded at him in confusion.

"Yes, Violet Crawley is my mother," she informed the man in front of her, much to his shock. 

Igor shook himself out of his stupor and smiled at the woman in front of him politely. "No mind. I believe I have overstayed my welcome. I really must be getting to Mrs Crawley." Rosamund smiled back at him before leading him back into the foyer while a butler came up to collect their used teacups.

"To get to Cavenham, you would want to take the train to Yorkshire then call a cab to Cavenham Park. The train ride itself is only about two hours if I'm not mistaken." Rosamund told him as he straightened his coat and his hat. "Would you like me to send my chauffer out with you?" She offered. 

"No, I don't need one. I'll get a cab," he replied and Rosamund opened the door to her flat. After stepping out into the busy streets for London, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Igor turned back at Rosamund and raised an eyebrow at the woman who looked oh so similar to her mother. "Yes?"

"I'm so very sorry, but I can't remember your name. What was it again?" She asked sheepishly. Igor chuckled at her sheepishness.

"Igor. Igor Kuragin," he answered.

"Mr Kuragin then," Rosamund held her hand out to shake, which he took. "Until we meet again."

Igor tipped his hat to her before disappearing into the bustling crowd. Rosamund bit her lip as she closed and locked the door.

"Kuragin..." she whispered to herself. "Where have I heard that name before?" She asked to no one in particular. 

** •May 26, 1925• **

_The Abbey Library_

** 7:00 PM **

"Grandmama!" Little George greeted gleefully, running as fast as his little legs could take him, crashing right into Isobel. His grandmother chuckled at his excitement and bent down to look at him.

"George, we mustn't run into Grandmama. They're here for dinner," Mary scolded gently. George looked up at his mother with big eyes and nodded his head. 

"Yes, Mummy." He said, not letting his mother's scolding get in the way of him and his Grandmama. 

"Don't I get a hello?" A voice asked from behind Isobel. George's smiled widened and it was a wonder how his face didn't hurt. 

"GRANDPAPA!" George yelled, scurrying behind Isobel to greet his step-grandfather. Dickie immediately obliged in picking George up and examined the little boy from head to toe. 

"Did you get bigger since Grandmama and I last saw you?" He asked jokingly, and George shrugged his shoulders, wrapping his arms around Dickie. "Hello, my boy." Dickie said softly, and George giggled before his Grandpapa placed him back on his feet. Just then, Barrow had opened the door.

"The Dowager Countess," he announced to the room, Violet walking in as he said so. 

"Granny!" Mary greeted as the Dowager Countess walked further into the library, Barrow had left the room, silently shutting the door. Mary walked toward her grandmother, placing a perfunctory kiss on her cheek. "Did you get here alright?"

"Well I'm still breathing, aren't I?" Violet asked her granddaughter jokingly, to which Isobel snorted in reply and Violet gracefully ignored it for once. Mary felt a tiny hand slip into hers, causing her to look down at her son's big blue eyes. 

"George, aren't you going to say hello to Granny Violet?" She asked her son. George shyly stepped out from behind his mother's skirts to look up at his great grandmother. He smiled up at her, unsure of what to do. He looked at his Mummy for help. "Go on, give Granny Violet a hug like you did with Grandmama," she encouraged.

Violet looked up sharply at her granddaughter, conflicted. It's been so long since she's been hugged by a child, and she was sure that George felt as awkward as she was. Mary just looked at her, mirth dancing in her eyes as she encouraged her son to hug his Granny Violet. 

The Dowager felt two stubby little arms wrap around her legs, looking down to find George staring up at her, a toothy grin on his face. 

"Hello Granny Violet," he greeted softly, not as energetic as he was with Isobel and Dickie. "I missed you," he said suddenly, causing the entire room to widen their eyes. Violet brought a hand down to softly run her fingers through his hair. 

"Hello my dear," she replied to him, smiling gently at his innocence. "Have you been a good boy today?" She asked him softly, to which George nodded enthusiastically. "Good job," Violet told him before leaning down slowly to plant a small kiss on the little boy's forehead. 

Dickie could have sworn his wife's eyes had bugged out of her head at Cousin Violet's (rare) affectionate gesture. George smiled brightly at his Granny Violet, giving her legs one last squeeze before walking back to his Mummy. 

Mary smiled at him indulgently as she led him back to Nanny. 

"Alright, go on and play with Sybbie. Marigold should be here soon and then all three of you could play," Mary told her son, to which he nodded and eagerly grabbed Nanny's hand. "I suppose you could handle it from here?" Mary asked the nanny.

"Of course, milady." Nanny replied meekly before leading Master George back up to the playroom with Miss Sybbie. Mary watched as they silently left the library before turning back to everyone. 

"Have you changed your pills again?" Isobel asked Violet as soon as George was out of earshot. Cousin Violet looked affronted while Mary bit back a laugh. 

“Why must you assume that every time I do something even remotely nice, I’ve changed my pills?” The Dowager asked annoyed, but not that much. Mary let the chuckle she had been holding in escape, causing her grandmother to shoot a half-hearted glare in her direction. 

"It’s just that I don't think I've ever seen you this affectionate with the children." Isobel shot back.

"Mama? Affectionate?" Robert commented as he and Cora walked in. “Out of all the words I would use to describe her, affectionate is not one of them.” Cora slapped her husband's arm, the grin on her face betraying her amusement. 

"Oh, and what words would you use to describe me, pray?" Violet asked her son pointedly. 

"Old," Robert replied without skipping a beat. Isobel snorted with laughter, turning her head into Dickie's shoulder to avoid Violet's glare. 

“Ha ha,” Violet answered sarcastically, banging her cane once against the floor. Her effort was ignored, however. Deciding to change the subject, she asked her son, “Is Rosamund coming up for dinner this week?” Robert shook his head.

“No, but I believe she is coming over to stay in two weeks. Why do you ask?” Violet pursed her lips. 

“Is a mother not allowed to ask when she’ll see her youngest daughter?” She asked, slightly offended by the implication. Robert quirked his lips up smugly. 

“No, of course a mother is allowed. But you don’t,” he said, barely suppressing a chuckle. 

Isobel was now fully behind Dickie, having way too much fun with Cousin Violet’s argument with her son. Barrow walked into the room once more, standing proud. 

“Milord,” he called out. Robert looked toward the butler, receiving the signal that dinner was reading. Nodding in acknowledgment, he turned to the rest of his family. 

“I believe Henry and Tom have returned and are now waiting for us. We should be going to dinner now,” he announced to everyone else. Cora tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and they led the rest of the family out of the library. 

** •May 26, 1925• **

_ Cavenham Park _

** 9:25 PM  **

After paying the driver, the man stepped out of the cab and shut the car door. Adjusting his coat and hat once again before looking up at the large estate in front of him. He straightened his posture and made his way down the paved road. 

Stopping at the front door, he cleared his throat before knocking loudly, hoping someone-anyone, really-would answer the door. Just then, a middle aged man had opened the door, looking at him suspiciously. 

“May I help you?” The butler asked, eyeing the disheveled man warily. 

“Yes,” he replied shortly. “I have been told that Isobel Grey now lives here. Is this true?” The man asked with a thick Russian accent. The butler said nothing and merely raised an eyebrow. 

“Who are you?” The butler demanded irritably, making a move to close the door. 

“Igor Kuragin,” the man introduced himself quickly. “I’m an old friend of Mrs Grey, you could ask her,” he informed the butler, his voice deepening as he defended his motives. The butler nodded once before motioning the man to come inside. 

“Wait here,” he told Igor stonily and stalked down the corridor, leaving the man in the foyer. Climbing up the stairs and turning to the East Wing of the mansion, he walked down the end of the hall. 

The butler stopped in front of Her Ladyship’s bedroom door and knocked politely. After hearing a faint “come in,” from the other side, the butler opened the door to find Lord Merton on the bed and Lady Merton at her vanity. 

“What is it, Mead?” Dickie asked his butler, and said butler cleared his throat before speaking. 

“There is a Mr Igor Kuragin waiting in the foyer,” Isobel’s head snapped up at the Russian Prince’s name. “He claims to be an old friend of yours, milady.” Mead said, turning towards Isobel. She exchanged a look with her husband before addressing Mead. 

“Kindly tell Mr Kuragin I’ll be there in a moment,” she relayed to Mead. The butler swallowed his surprise and nodded, turning swiftly on his heel, no doubt to give the message to this Mr Kuragin fellow. 

Once Mead had closed the door, Isobel’s head swiveled to face Dickie. 

“He’s back?” She whispered disbelievingly, getting up to retrieve her dressing gown from the edge of the bed. “Do you think he’s back to try and woo Cousin Violet? Now that the Princess Kuragin is out of the picture,” Isobel asked Dickie as she tied her robe tightly. 

The Baron shrugged. “It’s plausible. He was so obviously smitten with her, just like he was fifty years ago l’m assuming.” Dickie supplied. Isobel sighed deeply. 

“Let’s see what he wants first. Would you like to come with me?” She offered, holding her hand out for him to take. He took her hand to help him get up on his feet, then placed his hand on the small of her back. 

The couple exited Isobel’s bedroom and down into the foyer to meet with the former Prince. 

“Prince Kuragin!” Isobel greeted with a smile. 

** •December 28, 1874• **

_ St Petersburg, Russia _

_ “Tell me Patrick,” Violet hissed lowly. “What does she have that I don’t?” She asked her husband once they were in the privacy of their own chambers. “Am I not young enough for you? Am I not beautiful enough?” She said bitterly.  _

_ Dear god, Violet fought with every fiber in her being to keep the tears at bay. She’s caught Patrick in bed with so many women over the years, she hasn’t bothered to keep count. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt anymore. It did. After all these years, and she hated herself for it.  _

_ “She’s not a snooty, uptight wrench like yourself,” he hissed back.  _

_“She’s a whore,” Violet whispered brokenly. Patrick flared his nostrils in frustration and stalked towards the redhead. With each step he took, Violet_ could feel the bile rise in her throat. 

_ Grabbing one of her wrists tightly, he harshly pulled Violet into him. The Countess whimpered silently as he bruised her milky skin. Leaning in to breathe the gentle scent of lavender that clung to her neck.  _

_ “And the Countess of Grantham is jealous of a whore,” he breathed into her neck, lips grazing her pulse point. “Well darling, what if I make you one tonight?” Patrick asked, teeth sinking into her shoulder blade.  _

_ Violet bit her lip to keep silent, hot tears starting to trail down her cheeks.  _

_ “Patrick please,” she pleaded in a whisper. She knew the effort was fruitless but she couldn’t help but try. “Please no.” Her husband merely chuckled darkly.  _

_ “You know I love a woman that begs,” he said menacingly, running his free hand across her chest, fingers squeezing her ample bosom. “I’ll make a good little whore out of you.”  _

_Releasing his iron-clad grip on her wrist, he pulled her hair roughly, practically throwing her into the bed. Violet looked down at the pillows, stubbornly hiding her face with her hair, fingers tightly_ gripping the sheets below her. 

_ She felt the bed dip beside her and allowed herself to shed one final tear. Patrick had climbed up on top of her, looking down on her porcelain face.  _

_ Placing all his weight on his left arm, Patrick left his right arm travel up her body, until it reached her neck. Examining her milky skin with dark eyes, he wrapped his fingers around her elegant neck and squeezed. Tight enough to keep he quiet, but loose enough so he doesn’t kill.  _

_ “You’re such a good little whore,” he whispered in her ear before taking her, Patrick watched his wife’s eyes shut in pain, pressing her lips together in hopes to shut the pain between her legs out.  _

_ A strangled cry escaped Violet’s constricted throat as she felt blood dripping down onto the sheets. She was helpless, her husband owned her. And she absolutely hated it.  _

_ But Violet was only trying to be a good little housewife.  _

** •tbc• **


	4. 730 Days or 104 Weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THE FIRST PART OF THIS CHAPTER HAS AFTERMATH DESCRIPTIONS OF THE CONTENT FROM THE PREVIOUSLY POSTED CHAPTER. JUST LIKE THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER, IT IS ITALICIZED BUT THE DESCRIPTIONS THEMSELVES ARE ONLY FOR A FEW PARAGRAPHS AND IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ IT, FEEL FREE TO SKIP.

**_He used to sing me sweet melodies_ **

**_He played me, made me believe it was real love_ **

**_Sang me sweet melodies, but the day he did me wrong_ **

**_The song couldn't go on and on and on_ **

**•December 29, 1874•**

_Winter Palace, Russia_

_Violet's tightly wrapped the sheet around her chest, body wracking with broken sobs. A single lock of auburn hair fell in between her eyes, but she didn't have the heart to push it away._

_Patrick had left sometime during the night, but it didn't really matter anymore, did it? The soreness between her legs was prominent as Violet winced trying to untangle her lower body from the sheet._

_After reaching for her robe and the end of the bed and tying it tightly around her waist, Violet managed to drag herself out of bed in spite of her sore legs. Limping towards the vanity, she sat down heavily and stared at herself in the mirror. Violet suppressed a gasp at what she saw. It was a sight she was used to, and a sight she absolutely hated to see._

_Once flawless porcelain skin was red and blotchy, stained with tears. Her cheeks looked hollow and she could see dark circles forming beneath her eyes. Violet moved to look at her neck only to realize her lips had looked so much more swollen than the night before._

_Turning her neck slightly to the side, Violet bit back a sigh. Her neck covered in hickeys, bite marks and bruises caused by her husband's lips and fingers. Red hair a tangled clump at her shoulders and she could feel the sting of scratches on her back. With a shaky hand, Violet grabbed the brush on the vanity and did her best to smooth her hair out before Ginevra had to come in._

_After looking somewhat more presentable, Violet slowly rose from the chair and limped back to the bed, checking the sheets for any blood. She found a blanket stained with red and hastily pulled it off, trying to fold it as quickly as possible._

_A knock interrupted her frantic movements and Violet froze in her place._

_"Milady?" Came Ginerva's small voice. "May I come in?" Releasing the breath she didn't realize she was holding, Violet cleared her throat._

_"Yes, you may," she called out, steeling her voice. Ginevra had seen Violet at her most vulnerable, this was only the tip of the iceberg. The footsteps of the lady's maid were soft against the marble flooring and Violet looked up once they stopped._

_"Your Ladyship?" The brunette asked tentatively, noting how much her mistress' hands shook and how she tried to hide them within the blankets she gripped tightly. Ginevra gently pried the sheets out of Violet's grasp, setting them down on the bed. "Milady?" That seemed to snap Violet back into reality._

_"Ginevra," she said, her voice scratchy. "Help me get rid of these sheets," Violet whispered in fear of being heard by the other servants bustling up and down the Winter Palace. The Countess picked the sheets back up and handed them to Ginevra. The lady's maid took the sheets from Her Ladyship's arms and placed them in the corner of the room._

_"I'll get them washed later," Ginevra assured her, and Violet nodded in thanks. "I think it's best if you got changed, milady. We wouldn't want anyone to think there was something wrong," the brunette suggested softly._

_"Of course," Violet whispered hoarsely. "Do you remember what it was we were supposed to do today? I'm afraid it slipped my mind," she chuckled forcefully and Ginevra could not help but pity her mistress._

_"I believe you're scheduled for tea in a couple hours, milady."_

_"Ah. Then you're right, I should be getting ready," Violet replied, walking back to the vanity and gingerly taking a seat, trying not to wince as she sat. "What should I wear to tea?" She asked the brunette, looking at her in the mirror._

_"I brought the lavender day dress, milady," Ginevra said, gently brushing through Violet's red tresses._

_"Good choice," Violet smiled weakly at the young girl. At this point, all Ginevra could do was smile back._

**•May 27, 1925•**

_Dower House_

**11:45 AM**

Spratt opened the door of the drawing room causing Violet to look up from her book.

"What is it, Spratt?" She asked her butler, taking her glasses off to stare at him pointedly.

"The Lord and Lady Merton," he announced and Violet furrowed her brow in confusion. It wasn't unheard for the couple to drop by considering how frequently they did it. But Spratt's face told of a different story. It was odd for her butler to seem so disturbed... at least in instances where Denker wasn't involved in.

Isobel and Dickie had walked in soon after they were announced and Violet's suspicion rose. Isobel entered with a somber look on her face and Dickie merely looked concerned.

"Did someone come back from the dead? You two look like you've seen a ghost!" Violet laughed to herself, silently applauding herself at the quip. When Cousin Isobel had said nothing in reply, Violet stared at her intently. Sighing, she finally asked the couple, "What is it?"

Dickie didn't reply, he only turned towards the door and nodded his head once at Spratt.

"Spratt, would you care to bring us some tea?" Violet requested and her butler nodded stiffly at both requests and announced another guests that caused Violet's heart to drop to her stomach.

"The Prince Kuragin," said Prince walked into the drawing room and stood next to the Baron tall and proud. The butler turned as soon as the Prince was in the room, closing the door swiftly with a 'click.'

Isobel walked silently to the chaise lounge near Violet and folded her hands in her lap, simply staring at her twiddling thumbs. Dickie sat down next to her, leaving Igor the only one standing in the middle of the room.

"Igor," she finally breathed after a few beats of silence. "How... how did you get here? I thought you were in France?" Violet asked, her voice still breathy from the shock. Igor rubbed his hands together, pausing to think.

"I took a train," Igor murmured, clasping his hands behind his back. Violet nodded slowly, still trying to wrap her mind at the fact he was actually standing in her drawing room. Standing in front of her. She turned toward the Lord and Lady Merton, leaning in to whisper to Isobel.

"What is he doing here?" She hissed at her cousin.

"He arrived at Cavenham yesterday and we couldn't turn him away." Was Isobel's quiet reply.

"And pray tell, why couldn't you turn him away?"

"Isn't it obvious? He came back for you!" Isobel whispered back. Violet shot her cousin a stink eye while Dickie looked on between the two women, amused. The Baron leaned in to whisper as well.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but the Prince Kuragin is standing right in front of us and all of this whispering is fruitless," he directed to Violet. He heard Isobel snicker quietly from beside and he couldn't tell help but smile at her laughter. Turning back to Violet, he saw her pursing her lips in disapproval.

"Thank you for astounding observation, Lord Merton." Violet told him sarcastically. Dickie chuckled and leaned back from the huddle, folding his hands together. Looking away from the couple, Violet turned to address Igor, who had moved from his place to look out the window.

"So what brings you back to England, Igor?" Violet asked the Prince politely, her fingers subtly digging into her dress.

"Didn't you hear what Lady Merton said?" Igor shot back, "I came back for you." Violet didn't know what she more shocked at. The fact that he heard their conversation or the fact the Cousin Isobel was correct!

How lovely, Violet thought to herself. She couldn't let feelings from fifty years ago take control of her now. So she did what the Violet Crawley did best. Gracefully change the subject.

"I'm very sorry to hear about the Princess," said Violet quietly. The Prince said nothing and continued to look out the window. Isobel looked at her, annoyance clear on her face. Violet shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "I cannot find the appropriate words," she murmured to her cousin.

"And you thought bringing up his wife's death were the appropriate words to string together?" Isobel hissed back.

"Irina had it coming," Igor finally said, looking right at Violet. And for the first time since her husband had passed, Violet felt like an obeying housewife rather than the Dowager Countess. "As beautiful as she was, Irina was not a good person."

Dickie and Isobel exchanged a knowing look while Violet stared over Igor's shoulder. She didn't have the heart to look him in the eye.

"What happened to her?" Violet asked, it was the question that had been looming over everyone's heads.

"Cardiac arrest," was Igor's simple reply. He didn't elaborate and Violet didn't need him to. She only nodded in sympathy.

"I'm very sorry," Isobel added, feeling the need to break up the tension mounting in the room. They were all silent for a long moment, only broken when Spratt had walked in carrying a tea tray.

After everyone had gotten their tea, Violet thanked Spratt quietly before the butler swiftly left the room once more.

Igor finally broke the painful silence.

"It's been two years, Violet. And my offer still stands." Dickie and Isobel froze at the Prince's proclamation, the couple deciding to put their tea down while Isobel gathered her purse.

"I think it's best if Dickie and I leave you to it," Isobel quietly told her cousin. She was about to stand however, Violet's hand on her arm stopped her.

"Please don't leave. I don't think I could bear this alone at the moment." Violet requested, and Isobel could only nod before she and Dickie sat back down, feeling as awkward as they looked.

"It's been fifty one years since I first laid eyes on you. And I still feel the same way I did since the Winter Ball." Igor confessed to her, and Violet felt her breath catch in her throat. "As I told you two years ago, I would like to spend my final years with you. I still do. I always will."

"Igor, any chance of marriage between us had slipped through our fingers the moment your wife had yanked me out of that carriage." Violet replied, her voice breaking slightly at the end.

"Didn't you tell me that we had no one to run from anymore? Then why are you still running from me?" Igor bit back at her. Isobel widened her eyes at the Prince's bluntness. She looked to her husband, who also appeared to be highly uncomfortable.

Violet swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and closed her eyes briefly to collect herself.

"I'm not running from anyone." She managed to say, and to her shock, Igor chuckled sardonically.

"You're not running? But it seems you are trying to find a loophole once more. The first time I proposed, you said you couldn't bear to leave your children-" Violet cut him off abruptly.

"Yes, I did say that the first time. But do not forget I was so close to leaving them for you." She said venomously.

Isobel delicately scratched her nose and said to Dickie behind her hand, "it looks like we've gotten front row seats of the lovers' spat." Dickie nodded his agreement and placed his hand on top of her knee, squeezing it gently. Isobel placed her hand on top of his as they continued to watch the former lovers.

"Then, you use Irina still being alive to avoid accepting my proposal. You send us back to Paris in hopes we could reconcile. But we were hopeless. There was never any love between us.

"And now, Irina is gone and we have nothing else stopping us. Except for your pride," he growled. Violet inhaled sharply.

"I think it's best if you leave now, Prince Kuragin," Violet said coolly, her Ice Queen facade building back up into place. Igor huffed angrily, his footsteps heavy as he stormed out of the drawing room.

"I guess that's our cue, Darling." Dickie said to no one in particular, lifting himself off the seat and offering his hand to Isobel. Once she had gotten up, Isobel turned to her Cousin Violet, who's eyes never left the spot Igor had stood in moments before, the teacup and saucer still in hand.

Gently prying the delicate porcelain from Violet's fingers, Isobel spoke.

"Cousin Violet, are you alright? Would you like for me to stay with you for a while?" The Baroness offered sweetly. Violet shook her head slowly.

"No, I think I'll manage for the rest of today. Will I see you both at dinner when Rosamund comes up from London?" Violet asked, changing the subject swiftly. Isobel let the topic slide for now and nodded.

"Yes, we will be there," she confirmed and Violet nodded in satisfaction.

"Good." Then Violet grasped her cane tightly and stood up as well. "I trust you can see yourselves out?" When the couple nodded she continued. "Very well. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a few things that need to be taken care of." With that, we walked out of the drawing room, her cane and heels clicking in an alternate rhythm with each step.

The Mertons watched her exit the room and Isobel heard her husband let out a heavy sigh.

"That did not go as well as I had hoped..." Dickie told her and Isobel shook her head in disagreement.

"On the contrary, I think that was the best outcome we could have had," at this Dickie raised a brow at her.

"Are you saying that I'm the only one that felt the tension in this very room?"

"No of course not," Isobel laughed. "All I'm saying is that there is a lot of lost love between Cousin Violet and the Prince. I'm pleasantly surprised that they had been able to restrain themselves for the most part," she explained. Dickie nodded in understanding.

"I believe that Igor is waiting for us to come out. I think it's best we leave as well." He suggested. Dickie placed a hand at the small of her back as he led her out of the drawing room and out of the Dower House.

**•May 27, 1925•**

_Cavenham Park_

**8:20 PM**

The door of the library opened and Isobel looked up to see Dickie walk in. She smiled up at her husband as he took his suit jacket off and draped it across one of the chairs. He walked towards his wife and she greeted him with a peck on the cheek.

"I was waiting for you. I think I'm going to turn in early. Would you like to come?" Isobel offered her husband and he smiled in reply.

"After the day we've had, I think it's best." Dickie agreed, and she looped her arm with his as they walked out the library, Isobel grabbing Dickie's jacket he had left on one of the chairs.

They were silent as they walked through the halls and up the stairs, merely enjoying each other's company. Once they had arrived at their bedroom, Isobel made a beeline for her vanity, and began to slide each pin in her hair out.

Once her hair was all brushed out and had changed for bed, Isobel climbed under the sheets and pulled out a book from her nightstand as she waited for Dickie.

Her husband walked out of the bathroom with his dressing robe and smiled at Isobel as he walked to his side of the bed.

"How's the Prince faring?" She asked him, curling into Dickie's side as he climbed into bed and got under the sheets.

"Not very well," Dickie said. "He hasn't spoken a word since we left Violet's and according to Mead, he's locked himself in the guest room the moment he stepped inside." Isobel sighed and placed her head on his shoulder.

"I wonder how Cousin Violet is doing," she whispered. "I saw the pain flash in her eyes when Igor mentioned running. They were going to elope, you know?" She babbled. Dickie stayed silent he only stroked her hair soothingly, allowing Isobel to let everything she had observed that morning, out.

"The Princess had pulled her out by the hair, and Violet was utterly humiliated. From what I can gather, I don't think her husband was all that happy about the situation either.

"It's just all very sad to think about," Isobel paused, and turned to look her husband in the eye. "Is it possible for someone so composed be so broken on the inside?" She asked Dickie quietly, and he nodded.

Dickie paused, trying to find the correct words to say before he finally spoke.

"My Darling... people build walls around themselves when their hearts have been shattered so many times, they're afraid it might just stop altogether."

**•tbc•**


	5. Miss Violet Ames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE THAT IN THIS STORY THE TIMELINES HAVE SLIGHTLY BEEN MANIPULATED, MAKING VIOLET TWO YEARS OLDER THAN SHE IS IN THE ACTUAL SERIES. CANON SUGGESTS SHE WAS BORN IN 1842 BUT FOR THE SAKE OF THIS STORY, SHE WAS BORN IN 1840.

**_He would lie, he would cheat_ **

**_Over syncopated beats_ **

**_I was just his tiny dancer_ **

**_He had control of my feet_ **

**•May 31, 1925•**

_Dower House_

**1:20 PM**

"What are you doing here?" Violet asked her unwanted visitor harshly. "I gave you my answer two years ago and I have given you the same answer the day you arrived with the Lord and Lady Merton. You must be rather foolish to think I would change my mind after four days."

Igor stood in front of her defiantly, watching as she gripped her cane tighter with every word she hissed at him.

"I miss you," he said simply, and Igor relished at the slightest bit of emotion he saw flash in Violet's eyes. The Dowager swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, leaning forward against her cane.

"Igor," she began in a shaky voice. "Your wife just died. And I will not let you use her death as an excuse. It never mattered how we felt," she chuckled dryly.

"Always the perfect aristocrat, aren't you?" He sneered, clenching his fists tightly.

"I've held the title of Ice Queen for nearly half a century, I don't see why I must relinquish the title now that I'm nearly as old as Methuselah," Violet retorted just as acidly, rapping her cane once against the floors for emphasis.

"And that's why you're turning me down once again?" Igor demanded, his voice eerily quiet. "We have nothing to lose."

"You have nothing to lose," Violet corrected quickly. "I have everything to lose." She whispered sadly.

"That's what you said two years ago as well," Igor told her.

"That is because my decision has not changed in the last two years," she informed him crisply.

The Prince gritted his teeth in annoyance and walked to the window where he had stood mere days ago. He clasped his hands behind his back, an action that greatly reminded Violet of Robert and Dickie. They were silent for a long time, and all Violet could do was stare at his back, silently praying for him to turn around. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Violet finally spoke.

"Igor..?" She called out tentatively.

"You said you loved me," Igor said as he turned around to face her. And with that, Violet could swear her heart stopped at that moment. "Were those just empty words?"

The Dowager rose from her seat and placed both hands on top of her cane. She looked off to the wall briefly before turning back to the man before her.

"No," she answered, her voice cracking ever so slightly. It was a hardly noticeable, but to his satisfaction Igor had heard it. "No they weren't."

"They sure seemed like it," he scoffed.

"We were young, Igor." Violet spat out, barely keeping her composure. "We were young and silly fools!" Biting back her tears, Violet had rung for Spratt.

The former lovers stood on opposite sides of the drawing room, neither of them dared to utter a word. Grey eyes met blue in an intense stare before Violet forced herself to look away.

Spratt could practically feel the tension the moment he walked into Her Ladyship's drawing room. He said nothing on the matter however, standing tall and proud as he waited for Lady Grantham's orders.

"Spratt, please see Prince Kuragin out." She said crisply, not looking in the Prince's direction. The butler nodded once and opened the door wide enough for the Prince to walk in front of him.

After hearing the door click shut, Violet had released a shaky sigh and practically collapsed into her chair. She tugged at her collar incessantly, a habit she never grew out of as a young girl, and stared out the window blankly.

The Dowager watched as the Merton's chauffeur opened the door for Igor as he climbed into the car. They drove away not long after that.

Pressing a hand to her forehead, Violet closed her eyes for a few moments, allowing herself to replay the conversation that had occurred minutes before.

When she first saw him, he made her heart flutter in ways her husband never did. And Violet saw him at Rose's tea party, it was like falling for him all over again. And the feeling made her uneasy.

Last time she fell, there was no one there to catch her.

**•August 14, 1858•**

_Manchester, England_

_The 5th Earl of Grantham walked up the dirt path leading up to a humble cottage in a humble village. Pausing to take in his surroundings, the Earl noted how lovely their flower blooms were. If only they had lived in Downton, then it was very likely their blooms would win._

_Shaking himself from his thoughts, the Earl continued on the path he had been walking on, stopping in front of the door. He knocked firmly and it wasn't long until a butler came to answer the door._

_The lanky, and seemingly stoic man looked taken aback by his arrival momentarily before greeting him._

_"Lord Grantham," he said, a slight drawl to his voice. The Earl nodded his acknowledgment as the butler led him to the gardens. Which was a peculiar thing, one didn't usually greet guests in the gardens..._

_The Earl said nothing as he walked behind the butler, taking in the rest of the gardens silently. There, he was met with a small yet plump man._

_"Sir Ames," the Earl of Grantham greeted warmly, and the baronet tipped his hat to the tall man in front of him._

_"Lord Grantham," the baronet said, his voice faltering slightly at the imposing man before him. "How may I be of assistance?" He asked politely. Lord Grantham cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back, pausing for brief moment._

_"You see, my heir is in need of a wife..." he said awkwardly, and he watched as the stout man in front of him had brightened slightly._

_"Are you asking me what I think you're asking, Lord Grantham?" The baronet asked excitedly. The Earl nodded slowly and Sir Ames grinned. "I have two perfect girls for Lord Downton to choose from!" Lord Grantham hummed his approval._

_"When will I be able to meet them?" He asked, looking down at the baronet._

_"Of-of course," the short man stuttered. "KATHERINE!" He bellowed, startling Lord Grantham at the power of his voice. The baronet turned back to the Earl and smiled._

_"You'll meet them right now!" He said excitedly. Just then, a meek brunette had come out to the gardens and folded her hands in front of her, looking down demurely._

_"Yes Sir?" She asked quietly, still staring at the ground. The baronet placed a plump finger underneath the woman's chin, tilting her head up to look at him._

_"Katherine, my dear. Would you get Miss Victoria and Miss Vivienne out here?" He requested as he turned to look at Lord Grantham. "There's someone I would like for them to meet." The maid nodded once and scurried back to the cottage._

_She emerged once again a moment later, this time with two blonde girls following behind her._

_"You called for us Papa?" Victoria asked, and Lord Grantham had examined the two sisters as their father spoke._

_The one who had spoken, Victoria, if his memory was correct. She seemed to be the embodiment of femininity. The lavender day dress she wore complimented her curves, the dress itself bringing out the steeliness of her grey eyes. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled into a loose French twist at the back of her head. She smiled politely at Lord Grantham before turning back to her father. It was obvious she was Sir Ames' pride and joy, if the way his eyes lit up when he spoke to her was anything to go by._

_The other girl that had come out with Miss Victoria stood behind her sister, as if she was Victoria's mere shadow. Miss Vivienne, this is one was named, was a little plain for his taste and possibly his son's._

_She was a submissive thing, he could tell. But that wasn't exactly a bad thing to have in a wife. Miss Vivienne had smiled at him just like her sister, only a lot more timid than Miss Victoria. Unlike her sister, Vivienne had her dirty blonde hair in a plait thrown over her shoulder. The day dress she wore was exactly like Veronica's, but not as flattering on her figure. The deep green of her dress brought out the mellow green of her eyes. This one, he could tell, definitely was the shadow child. Sir Ames hadn't even spared a glance in Miss Vivienne's direction._

_"Victoria, Vivienne, I would like you to meet Lord Grantham," he introduced the Earl to his two daughters. The girls curtsied him shakily, but he let their little stumble slide. He forced a gentle smile at the two, who had giggled at his intense gaze._

_It seems the rumors were true, the Earl of Grantham was quite the looker._

_"Ladies," Lord Grantham said smoothly. "As you may have heard, my son Lord Downton, is looking for a wife. He is my heir so if either of you appeal to him, you would become Lady Downton once you have married. And once I have passed, one of you would become Lady Grantham."_

_Miss Victoria squeaked giddily while Miss Vivienne's reaction was slightly more subdued, instead she offered the Ear a bright smile. Sir Ames looked rather pleased with himself as he eyes Miss Victoria proudly._

_"I will get straight to the point." He said once the girls had calmed slightly. "Would you two ladies do me the honor of visiting Downton up in Yorkshire to meet my son?" The Earl offered._

_Victoria and Vivienne turned to their father, to which he nodded his permission. Lord Grantham allowed a genuine smile to crack through. He clapped his hands together to gather their attention once more._

_"Now, go pack your bags while I talk business with your father." He told them, and the sisters nodded, giggling all the way back to the cottage. The baronet spoke again once the girls were safely out of earshot._

_"Lord Grantham, I never got the chance to formally thank you-"_

_"I thought we agreed never to speak about it." The Earl growled darkly. The stout man seemed to shrink at the tone of the Earl's voice but to his credit, did not back down. "I payed the debts of your gambling and in exchange, you give away one of your daughters to be my son's bride."_

_The baronet nodded quickly._

_"Now that we have them convinced, we can put this deal behind and we never need to speak to each other again. Do you understand?" He clarified for the man, to which he nodded once more. "Good."_

_"Shall we wait for the girls inside?" Sir Ames offered, and Lord Grantham had gestured for him to lead the way._

_Stepping into the humble cottage, Lord Grantham noticed there wasn't much for the man to boast. Neither of these girls would have a big enough dowry to put into the estate. He shook that minor inconvenience away. His only comforts of his son marrying an Ames girl were their aristocratic blood line and beauty._

_As his eyes scanned the room, his gaze fell on another girl who was stretched out on the chaise lounge, a book in her lap. She was different from the two girls he had met moments ago, and it was intriguing. She was clearly younger than the other two. The girl was an unconventional beauty and he couldn't help but smirk slightly._

_Unlike the baronet's daughters, her hair was a subtle Auburn which fell in loose waves all the way down to her waist. Her beige... pantsuit? Contrasted nicely with her pale complexion and her high cheekbones suited her well-sculpted face._

_Leaning over to the baronet's ear, he whispered._

_"I wasn't aware you let maids lounge around the house like that," he pointed to the red headed beauty on the chaise. Sir Ames' eyes widened as he replied to the Earl._

_"Oh, no. That's my youngest, Violet. Shall I send her away?" The baronet didn't wait for a response as he briskly walked over to his daughter. Lord Grantham clenched his jaw in annoyance, had Sir Ames intentionally introduced him to bimbos?_

_He watched as the baronet quietly reprimanded his daughter, gesticulating wildly in his direction. Miss Violet looked over her father's shoulder to look Lord Grantham directly in the eye._

_Her eyes were an intense shade of blue, and she said nothing when his presence was noticed. Miss Violet arched a delicate eyebrow at him before looking back at her father blankly._

_"Father, if you want me to leave, then tell me to leave," Violet told Sir Ames. Her voice was deeper than Miss Victoria's, Violet's voice reminding him of dark chocolate._

_"There's no need for her to leave, Sir Ames." Lord Grantham interrupted, causing both father and daughter to turn their attention to the Earl. He stepped forward, looking to Miss Violet and she returned his gaze unflinchingly._

_"Miss Violet Ames. I have a proposition for you..."_

**•May 31, 1925•**

_Cavenham Park_

**6:30 PM**

Igor Kuragin nodded his thanks to Mead, who had opened the door for him before stepping into the foyer. He turned back to the butler saying,

"If it's possible, I would like to have a tray taken up for dinner." He requested, and Mead smiled reassuringly.

"Very good milord." Mead replied, walking off to the kitchens to inform Mrs Williams of Prince Kuragin's requests.

The Prince walked to this room located in the West Wing when he heard the clicking of heels against the floors. He turned around to find Lady Merton reading from a clip board. She looked up to find him staring at her and Isobel smiled warmly.

"Prince Kuragin! How are you finding your accommodations?" Isobel (ever the hostess) kindly.

"Please, call me Igor. And the guest room you have provided me with suits me just fine." Igor replied with a slight smile of his own.

"Then please, call me Isobel. I'm very glad the guest room is to your satisfaction," she said. "But if you'll excuse me, I have to find Dickie." And with that, the Baroness had disappeared into the East Wing.

Isobel studied the hospital's numbers intently as she walked through the large halls of Cavenham. Stopping in front of the door to her bedroom, Isobel opened it and stepped inside, reaching for the hospital receipts sitting at her vanity.

Sitting down on the cushioned bench at the end of the bed, Isobel lost herself in the work for quite some time.

The door open ring had knocked her out of her thoughts as she looked up to see Dickie entering with a loving smile on his face.

"Hello Darling," Dickie greeted as he walked over to plant a kiss at the top of her head. Isobel smiled up at her husband and gladly accepted his kiss. "Mead tells me dinner will be ready soon," Dickie informed Isobel as he shrugged off his suit jacket.

"How was your day?" Isobel asked, looking up from her work. Dickie shrugged noncommittally.

"It was rather mundane," he confessed to her, walking to the bench and sitting down next to Isobel. "Cousin Violet rang earlier. She was looking for you but Mead said he couldn't find you." Isobel raised an eyebrow at her husband.

"When was this?" She asked.

"A few minutes ago, actually."

Isobel hummed her acknowledgment and sighed deeply.

"What did she want this time?"

Dickie cleared his throat awkwardly, looking to the door multiple times, as if he was afraid someone would burst in. Isobel noticed her husband's sudden silence, and laced her fingers with his. Dickie looked down at her and smiled, kissing her forehead gently.

"What did Cousin Violet say?" She asked gently. Dickie heaved a great sigh before replying.

"It seems our dear Russian Prince had paid Cousin Violet another visit this afternoon."

**•tbc•**


	6. Dirty Dancing in the Moonlight

**_Yes, when he came along_ **

**_That's when I lost the groove_ **

**_There was no song in the world_ **

**_To sing along or make me move_ **

**•June 26, 1925•**

_The Abbey_

**7:00 PM**

"You have made yourself quite scarce," Isobel commented once she had managed to corner Violet. The Dowager cast a disapproving glance in her cousin's direction, not at all fond of Isobel's accusatory tone of voice. Isobel sipped her drink quietly as she waited for Violet to speak.

"Is your Russian Prince still staying with you and Dickie?" She finally asked, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Isobel gaped at her, eyes wide in shock.

"My Russian Prince? Are you mad?" The Baroness asked, slightly scandalized. Mary turned her head to look at the two women, her eyebrows raised. Isobel offered her a weak smile while Violet waved her hand. The eldest Crawley daughter nodded apprehensively before turning back to her conversation with Edith and Tom.

"Must you raise your voice that way?" Violet admonished, glaring at her cousin as she did so. Isobel shrugged her shoulders and took another sip of her cocktail. "And I'm only asking because I worry." Isobel turned back to the Dowager.

"You worry? I thought you weren't familiar with that term," Isobel said, and Violet shook her head.

"All I'm saying is that if it gets out that you are housing a former Prince, who knows how everyone will react?" Violet countered, and Isobel raised a brow at her.

"Are we still talking about the same situation?"

"Of course we are. What are you implying?" The Dowager asked defensively, and Isobel smiled smugly at her reaction. Isobel gave Violet one last smirk before walking back towards Dickie and Cora.

Violet exhaled slowly, her heart beating wildly. He was still here and apparently, showed no signs of going back to France. The Dowager focused on everyone in the drawing room, hoping to escape her thoughts of Igor.

"Granny," she heard Mary call. Violet looked over to see her granddaughter walk over to where she sat, sitting on the chair across from her. "You're awfully quiet tonight. Is there something on your mind?"

Damn that girl and her intuition.

"Must I be speaking to everyone in order to be alright?" Violet countered, and Mary had looked suitably chastised, much to the Dowager's guilty satisfaction. However, Mary had steeled herself quickly and stared at her grandmother in the eye.

"Is this about Prince Kuragin?" She asked bluntly, and Violet looked at her granddaughter sharply.

"How did you know?" Mary smirked, quite similar to that of Isobel's mere moments ago.

"I didn't," she retorted, grinning like Cheshire Cat. Violet pursed her thin lips, cursing her foolishness. "Granny, aren't you going to tell me?" Mary pressed on.

"Cheeky girl," Violet admonished playfully (not that would ever admit it out loud) but her granddaughter was unbothered.

"I get it from you," Mary said, giggling to herself as she glided back over to Tom, who had watched the exchange in amusement. Violet fumed silently from her seat as she waited for Barrow to enter, counting down the seconds until dinner was announced.

After a painful fifteen minutes (for Violet, anyway) Barrow had finally announced dinner. The Dowager hauled herself up, leaning heavily on her cane for balance, and took the arm that Tom had offered her as she was led to the dining room.

As soon as everyone was situated and the food was being served, they all had broken off in different conversations.

"Mary told me all about him," Tom said to her quietly as she took a sip of his wine. Violet turned to him sharply, her forehead crinkled in confusion.

"Whatever do you mean?" She asked airily and Tom merely chuckled.

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Lady Grantham." Tom told the Dowager, amusement etched in his features. "Mary told me about Prince Kuragin," he revealed. Violet pursed her lips and turned to glare at her granddaughter, who was busy conversing with her godfather.

"Since when has this Russian Prince captured everyone's attention all of a sudden?" Violet demanded, prompting Robert to look over at them in concern.

"Is everything alright, Mama?" Her son asked, and for once, Violet shook her head and said nothing on the matter. The Earl of Grantham eyed his mother suspiciously for another moment before shrugging it off and turned back to his dinner.

"I still don't understand that fuss around the man. He's staying with the Lord and Lady Merton and that is that," she whispered to Tom after making sure no one had been listening in to the previous conversation.

"He wants to marry you," Tom whispered just as quietly.

"And how do you know that, pray?" Violet asked acidly, her defenses building back up. "For all we know, he just wishes to settle down in Yorkshire. Isobel and Dickie could just be the ones helping him start anew." She guessed with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

"He wants to settle down with you," he emphasized, and Violet shot him an annoyed glare.

"Have you hit your head recently?" Violet remarked tartly, attempting to steer this conversation in any other direction other than of the Prince. Tom smiled at her sheepishly, finally deciding to drop his subject when Barrow had walked around the table, refilling the goblets with wine.

Taking a sip of the wine Barrow had just poured, Violet turned to Edith in hopes of pushing Prince Kuragin to the back of her mind.

"Edith, dear. When do you an Bertie plan on having the wedding?"

**•August 15, 1858•**

_Downton Abbey, Yorkshire_

**12:45 PM**

_Victoria and Vivienne both gasped in awe as the carriage approached Downton. Lord Grantham forced a smile at the two girls as they giggled in excitement. He glanced over to Violet, who had not bat an eyelid at the estate, her eyes focused on the book in her lap. Lord Grantham allowed himself a small smirk at the youngest Ames sister. This one didn't seem much like a ditz. He let the other two chat amongst themselves and he glued his to Miss Violet, waiting patiently for a reaction._

_She arched a delicate eyebrow when she finally looked up at him, her blue eyes staring fearlessly into her brown ones._

_"May I help you Lord Grantham?" Her voice was deeper than most, and despite having heard her speak the day before, the tenor of her voice still managed to shock him. Victoria and Vivienne looked at their sister in horror, Victoria going as far as slapping Violet's knee harshly. The redhead merely side-eyed Victoria before looking back at the Earl._

_"Violet," Victoria suddenly hissed. "You don't just speak to an Earl whenever you please, it's improper!" She was promptly ignored by her younger sister, and she crossed her arms in annoyance, Vivienne doing her best to calm her down. Lord Grantham laughed gently before answering Violet._

_"Are you not impressed by what you see, Miss Ames?" Lord Grantham questioned. It was then Violet had finally looked out of the carriage, her eyes widening slightly at the sheer size of the estate. The Earl had noticed this, and chuckled silently. "Shall I color you impressed?" He asked her, amused._

_"The estate itself impressive, I am not." The young girl answered quickly. Lord Grantham quirked the corner of his mouth in amusement, and turned back to the window of the carriage._

_"Very clever, Miss Violet." Lord Grantham chuckled in amusement. "Very clever indeed," he added under his breath._

_The butler had greeted Lord Grantham and the three Ames sisters, the eldest of the three still reeling in excitement. The Earl had helped each girl out of the carriage and the butler spoke once everyone had gotten to their feet._

_"Welcome to Downton Abbey," he said, his arm stretching out to gesture the estate behind him. Violet could practically feel Victoria and Vivienne inhale sharply, they curtsied clumsily once more, much to the staff's amusement. The youngest Ames sister had merely nodded politely, smiling sweetly._

_Just then, a thin woman in a royal blue crinoline petticoat had walked through the doors and Violet noticed Lord Grantham's eyes darken as she approached him._

_"Darling!" She greeted him in a rather nasally voice, and Violet winced silently._

_"Lady Catherine," he answered tightly, placing a perfunctory kiss on her cheek._

_So this was the Lady Grantham..._

_After greeting her husband, the Countess of Grantham stepped back to scan each of the girls one by one._

_"So these are Sir Ames' girls?" Lord Grantham nodded, clasping his hands behind his back as his wife examined the girls he had brought._

_Lady Catherine walked up to the one closest to her, Miss Vivienne. She took in the girl's white lace dress, and hummed appreciatively. Pinching the lace slightly, she nodded before she drew her eyes to the girl's face. The Countess' face dropped slightly once she was met with an uneasy smile._

_"Terribly plain." She told Miss Vivienne before walking up to Miss Victoria._

_"Ah!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight. Victoria smiled proudly at the reaction she had gotten out of Lady Grantham and held her head up high. The Countess smiled approvingly as she looked the rest of the girl over. Lady Catherine glanced at her day dress, then back at Miss Vivienne._

_"Matching day dresses..." she murmured to herself. She smiled brightly at Miss Victoria. "I like you." She told her, and Victoria's smile had widened._

_Lady Grantham moved on to the final girl, and her smile dropped. Her expression soured when she had looked down at what the youngest Ames sister wore. She pinched the deep red linen the way she had Vivienne's dress._

_"And what is this?" She asked Violet._

_"A chiton," she replied nonchalantly. Lord Grantham smiled his approval. Lady Grantham pursed her lips, and dropped the fabric of her dress. She gasped in horror when she realized Violet had worn her hair down._

_"Flowers in your hair?" She said, horrified at the way this young woman held herself so proudly but dressed like a commoner._

_"The Greeks do it." Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes at the red head. "I believe that their fashion is so much more comfortable than that of the English." The Countess tugged on one of the girl's red locks and released it quickly._

_"You have the possibility of becoming a Countess one day and this is how you present yourself?" Lady Catherine chuckled sardonically. "How shameful."_

_It was Violet's turn to narrow her eyes at the woman before her._

_"Shame as it may be, but I refuse to stoop so low I must force myself to alter my appearance to fit into the standards of a man I have never even met." She retorted acidly. Violet could practically feel Victoria's glare burning a hole into her temple._

_She had caught Lord Grantham's eye and she could swear he had smiled in approval._

**•June 26, 1925•**

_Drawing Room_

**9:00 PM**

"Here," Violet breathed as she entered the empty drawing room, Isobel and Dickie trailing behind her. "Oh, and close the door," she told them, and Dickie moved to do so.

"What did you need?" Isobel asked bluntly as she sat down on one of the couches, crossing her legs at the ankles. She smiled at Dickie, who had handed her a glass of brandy. "Thank you," she whispered to him sweetly.

"I won't beat around the bush..."

"When have you ever?" Isobel interrupted sarcastically. Violet gave her cousin a disapproving glance before easing herself into a seat across from the couple.

"Dear, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," Violet told her cousin.

"Is that why you use it so often?" Isobel retorted, and Dickie merely sipped his own brandy to conceal the grin threatening to break away. The Dowager pursed her thin lips before placing her cane in front of her, finger gripping the handle a little tighter than usual.

"When is he going to leave?" Violet asked, watching as Isobel and Dickie looked at each other, then back at her.

The silence was deafening, and Violet couldn't bring herself to break it. With her heart thumping so loud in her ears, it was a miracle she hadn't gone mad.

"We don't know," Isobel admitted quietly and Violet rapped her cane against the floor, causing Isobel to jump slightly. Dickie placed a gentle hand on her knee.

"And the two of you are just going to let him stay at Cavenham for however long he wishes?" The Dowager demanded. "Why can't you just send him back to where he came from?"

"Because I am not heartless," Isobel replied hotly.

"Darling, Cousin Violet. Please, let's not argue here of all places." Dickie butt in, trying to mediate the growing tension between the two matriarchs.

Unfortunately, his efforts of playing peacemaker were ignored as Violet decided to respond to her cousin's accusations.

"I wasn't aware you were Saint Vincent de Paul," Violet quipped, a slight edge to her voice.

"Why do you want to send him away so badly? I don't understand!" Isobel exclaimed. "It's not as if he knocks at your door everyday."

"I can't bear the thought of him being so close." Violet whispered hoarsely. Both Isobel and Dickie froze at the quiet admission.

"And why is that?" Dickie asked tentatively, as if she were a lioness ready to pounce on her prey.

Sighing heavily, Violet got to her feet, leaning in her cane for support.

"It's getting rather late, isn't it?" Violet asked, and Isobel didn't comment on the Dowager's effort to change the subject. "I think I'll say good night and be off." She walked slowly towards the door and turned back to the Mertons. "Are you coming?"

Dickie nodded and got up from his spot on the couch, walking up to Violet as Isobel followed with suit. She nestled her hand in the crook of his arm as they exited the drawing room.

**•June 26, 1925•**

_Dower House_

**10:45 PM**

"Thank you Denker," Violet told her lady's maid as she tied off her braid. Denker nodded in acknowledgment and turned to leave when Violet's voice rang out.

"What is this?" The Dowager asked, pointing to an envelope on her bedside table. Denker looked over at what Her Ladyship was pointing to and smiled.

"The letter came for you earlier this afternoon, Milady. You'd have already gone to the Abbey so I put it there instead." She explained and Violet nodded her head in understanding.

"Will that be all, Milady?" Denker asked after a beat of silence.

"Yes, thank you." Violet nodded again.

"Very good, Milady." Denker bowed her head before slipping out of Her Ladyship's bedroom.

Settling under the covers, Violet stared at the sealed envelope with apprehension. Shrugging inwardly, Violet reached for it, puzzled by the oddly familiar handwriting written on delicate paper.

_Lady Violet Crawley_

_Dower House, Yorkshire_

Gently peeling the envelope open, Violet reached for the note nestled inside. Looking back inside, she was rather surprised to find another one tucked in. Comparing the two pages, she had decided to read the newest looking one first.

_Lady Grantham,_

_I had discovered this letter in a box hidden under my Father's bed and I felt that you deserved to have it. The letter enclosed with this one is a letter my Father had written to you, but had never sent. To be frank, I do not know who you are nor am I familiar with the Crawley bloodline. I don't think I even understand why you're addressed as Lady Grantham and not Lady Crawley. However, I could see you meant a great deal to my father and I wish to express my gratitude. He always spoke very highly of you. Although he never fully explained his tales. Father would always mention a "Violet" but we always thought it was the dementia talking. It turns out, there is a face to the name. Father is gone now, and I feel that you should know that you were the were last thing he spoke of before he took his final breath. I am not expecting a letter in return, and I understand if you do not wish to. But you deserve the truth, and this is the unfortunate truth._

_Signed,_

_Elizabeth Williams_

After reading the letter over once more, Violet furrowed her brow in confusion. Father? Had Miss Williams gone mad? Deciding to read the letter one last time, Violet caught sight of the older letter that she had put aside.

Placing Miss Williams' letter in her lap, Violet unfolded the other one and she could feel her chest constrict after every word she read.

_My Dear Violet,_

_I miss you, my darling. You're all I ever think about and it drives me mad. I see you every time I close my eyes and when reality pulls me awake once more, I can't help but feel the disappointment all the way down to the pit of my stomach. I hear you have children now, and I am happy for you. Really, I am. But it hurts me to this day that you would choose a loveless marriage because I could have given you so much more. We could have lived in a world where we needn't run from prying eyes and high expectations. We could have had children out of love and not for the sake of producing an heir. We could have run away in open fields, with no one stopping to stare. We could have danced in the moonlight without a care in the world. My darling, we could have been happy. Alas, we have both made our choices and they had led us here. Tear your walls down, my love. Let someone into your heart, because you deserve the moon and the stars. And I would have given them to you. But I've fallen in love again, Violet. I pray that one day, you will too._

_I'll love you always,_

_Robert Williams, 1868_

Violet covered her mouth with a shaky hand as she forced herself to hold back tears.

Robert... oh darling Robert.

She leaned her head back as the memories crashed through her like a tidal wave, and the Dowager Countess of Grantham allowed herself a moment's weakness.

She let the sob escape her throat as the walls of her kingdom crumbled around her.

**•July 2, 1859•**

_East Anglia_

_"We... we can't do this." Violet whispered against his lips. She felt Robert's arms tighten around her waist._

_"And why not?" He asked cheekily, removing the pins from Violet's hair, her auburn locks tumbling down her shoulders. "It's not like your Lord Downton is here." Robert pointed out, pressing his lips against hers._

_Pulling away reluctantly, Violet crawled off of him and pulled herself up to sit. Brushing a lock of hair over her shoulder, Violet stared at the moon shining brightly in the starless sky. They stayed silent for some time before Violet decided to speak once more._

_"It's beautiful isn't it?" She asked Robert softly and she felt him sit up beside her._

_"Not as beautiful as you," he had whispered into her ear, kissing her bare shoulder gently. "It's been so long since I've seen you in a chiton. I've missed it very much," he said between kisses._

_"I've missed them too." Violet replied softly, smiling over at Robert who had rested his chin against her shoulder._

_"Dance with me." He said suddenly. Violet looked at him in alarm._

_"What?" She asked, slight dumbfounded. She barely had enough time to complete a coherent sentence when he hauled her up from the grass._

_"Please, grant me this request," he told her, so serious all of a sudden. Startled by his abrupt change of demeanor, she nodded hesitantly._

_"May I ask why?" Robert smiled sadly and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips._

_"Because my darling, this may be the last time I get to hold you in my arms as if you were mine."_

_So they had danced until their legs gave out, until they their hearts were full. They didn't let go because when they did, it would be lost forever. They danced into the night, the beat of their hearts the music, each intake of air their guide._

_It was only a little secret, and the moon was their only witness._

**•end part one•**


	7. Forget You Not

**Part II: As If We Were Still Children**

**_I know a girl_ **   
**_Who likes to drink her coffee black_ **   
**_'Cause sugar no_ **   
**_She don't got time for that_ **

**•June 27, 1925•**   
_Cavenham Park_

**2:10 PM**

"Is Lady Merton here?" Violet Crawley asked the butler, who had nodded in confirmation. Mead opened the door further to let the Dowager into the estate.

"Her Ladyship is in the gardens. Shall I escort you to her, Lady Grantham?" He offered, to which Violet nodded.

"Oh yes, that would be most appreciated," the Dowager said as she followed Mead out to the garden. When they had reached Isobel, the Baroness greeted her with a warm smile.

"Cousin Violet, I wasn't told you were coming!" She exclaimed. "Shall we sit?" Isobel asked, gesturing to the table by the chrysanthemums. Violet nodded and sat down, and Mead took that as his sign to walk back to the house.

Violet sighed before she decided to speak.

"I haven't been completely honest with you..." she trailed off. Isobel furrowed her brows in confusion.

"With what?" She asked, more than a little confused.

"Igor... wasn't the only man I loved. There was another before him," Violet confessed. "This man came before the late Lord Grantham as well." Isobel's eyes widened at the admission.

The Baroness however, kept her face impassive, refusing to voice her thoughts until Cousin Violet explained further. Said cousin had stopped speaking for several minutes. Thankfully, patience was a virtue Isobel valued, so there sat with her legs crossed at the ankles and her hands folded in her lap.

"I'm listening..." Isobel prompted gently, ensuring Violet of her secrecy.

"His name was Robert," Violet whispered. "And he was my first love." The Dowager smiled wistfully, much to Isobel's confusion.

"Your son was your first love?" She asked, her brows furrowed. Violet glared at her cousin half-heartedly.

"Don't be daft," she snapped, her patience suddenly running thin. "Another man," Violet filled in the blanks for her cousin. "I was in love with another man. That man's name was Robert," Violet explained slowly, as if she were speaking to a child.

Isobel nodded, finally grasping the meaning of her words.

"You're getting slow in your age, Cousin Isobel." Violet remarked.

"Would you like to go inside? For the sake of privacy, of course." Isobel offered, to which her cousin hesitated. "He's with Dickie in London, if that's what you're thinking."

"Then, yes. I think it's best we go in," the Dowager agreed. Isobel nodded her agreement and the pair made their way back to the estate.

They had settled themselves in the drawing room, and Mead had brought in a tea tray, to which Violet was thankful for.

"So what we're you telling me earlier about another man named Robert?" Isobel prompted curiously.

"Yes," Violet sighed out. "His name was Robert Williams," she started, a wistful smile beginning to form on her lips. "I despised him at first, you know."

Isobel laughed lightly. "That's how all great romances start."

**•April 15, 1856•**   
_Manchester, England_

_"Who are you?" The young girl, no older than sixteen asked the person before her. "And what are you doing in my father's garden?" The young man smirked in response, refusing to answer any of her questions._

_Violet had no patience for fools. And this one was slowly climbing up that ladder._

_"Dear god man, do you even speak?" She demanded, her English accent thickening as she spoke. The redhead placed her hands on her hips in annoyance, huffing as she turned back to her father's cottage._

_"These blooms are beautiful, are they not?" He drawled. Violet turned her head sharply, coming face to face with a boy that looked to be the same age as her._

_"Yes, they are," Violet answered impatiently. "Now that you've seen our blooms, you may leave," she added, a slight edge to her voice. When he seemed like he was about to leave, he held his hand out for her to shake._

_"Robert Williams," he introduced proudly and Violet raised a brow at this._

_"And what do you wish for me do to with this information? Run your name in the papers?" She asked him tartly. To her surprise and great annoyance, Robert threw his head back and laughed loudly._

_"Of course not," he smiled. Violet on the other hand, frowned._

_"Then why are you here?" She demanded once more._

_"Myosotis, what an odd choice," Robert mused. Violet narrowed her eyes at his nonchalant tone of voice. "Commonly known as Forget Me Nots. Give these flowers to a person, it means you respect them immensely." The man wouldn't stop rambling! But she didn't have the heart to stop him, so Violet figured she would just let the man tire himself out._

_He looked up from the blue flowers and smirked. "Violets," he said, and there was no need to elaborate. "How very fitting," Robert commented lightly with a smile. Violet crossed her arms over her chest and arched a brow._

_"Yes, that is my name. There are Violets in this garden, oh I didn't notice this. How very clever of you." She said, her voice flat and dripping with sarcasm._

_"The flowers you were named after indicate a young love that is starting to blossom." Robert chuckled at his choice in words._

_"I don't recall asking you what these flowers meant," Violet told him harshly. Instead of being offended, Robert chuckled quietly with a twinkle in his green eyes._

_Was this man incapable of a frown? Or is he merely trying to infuriate her? Sighing heavily, she decided to try another tactic._

_"May I ask what you're doing here?" She questioned, softening her voice ever so slightly. He looked her up and down in response and Violet couldn't help but snarl. "Don't look at me like that!" She snapped. The boy seemed to have some manners, since he blushed and quickly looked away from her._

_"I stumbled across these blooms, and I couldn't help but get a closer look at them," Robert finally admitted after a few beats of silence._

_"That is your reasoning," Violet said flatly and was rather disappointed by his answer. Robert shrugged carelessly in response. Rolling her eyes, she turned to make her way back to the cottage._

_"Don't take any of the flowers," she called over her shoulder. "I worked hard on those."_

**•June 27, 1925•**   
_Cavenham Park_

**3:00 PM**

Igor stopped in his tracks as he heard Violet's voice and in the story she had told as he passed by the drawing room. There was someone before him, that much he could gather from her rather hushed conversation with the Lady Merton. This information shouldn't mean anything to him. Violet had refused to marry him on three separate occasions.

He opened the door to the guest room tiredly. He and Dickie were able to catch the afternoon train back to Yorkshire, thankfully. Sitting on the bed with a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

It's been over a month since he'd come face to face with Violet herself and when he finally hears her voice, she speaks of another man.

Did it hurt? Yes, of course it did. He thought to himself bitterly, ripping off the tie of his suit. Shedding off his coat, he draped it at the edge of the bed and rubbed his forehead tiredly.

Deciding he had enough for the rest of the day, perhaps the rest of his life, Igor climbing under the warm covers of the bed and slipped into an uneasy slumber.

**•December 24, 1874•  
**_Winter Palace, Russia_

_The Prince Kuragin watched as Irina laughed along with the Lord Grantham. He took care to notice how often she would touch his arm, or the way his eyes dipped below her collarbone. Igor scanned the rest of the ballroom, his gaze falling on a mass of auburn tresses._

_He creased his forehead, trying to remember the woman's title. The "Ice Queen" is what he hears everyone call her. Women out of spite and men out of awe._

_Irina didn't like that woman in particular but to his recollection, she hadn't given him a proper reason that did not run along the lines of 'she's an Englishwoman.'_

_Her name suddenly popped into his mind, causing Igor to smirk inwardly._

_The Lady Violet Crawley, Countess of Grantham. He's heard their whispers of her._

_'I hear her husband is a rake.'_

_'The Dowager Countess of Grantham despises her for being the daughter of a baronet.'_

_'Such a lovely face, isn't she?'_

_Ridding himself of all the rumors surrounding the Crawleys, he walked up to the redhead who had been chatting with the Tsar's daughter._

_Tonight, he told himself confidently. Tonight, he would crack the Ice Queen herself._

**•June 27, 1925•  
** _Cavenham Park_

**3:15 PM**

Isobel looked at her cousin in shock and at a loss for words. Although a part of her was also quite amused, she couldn't find the proper words to articulate her current emotions. 

"You named your son--your heir, after a man you had despised and eventually fell in love with?" She asked once she recovered from her shock. Violet glared at her impatiently. 

"Of all things to pick up on, that is the one you choose?" Violet said blithely, and Isobel rolled her eyes in response.

"Well naturally," she defended. "It wouldn't be too hard to connect the dots. Why else would you name your son Robert? Other than the fact he was named after the man that made you feel love for the first time, of course."

Pursing her thin lips, Violet shot her cousin a sour expression. 

"Must you romanticize this situation as well?" The Dowager questioned harshly. Unbothered by her cousin's harsh demeanor, she stared blankly at Violet to get her point across. "My dear, that look isn't going to work on me and you know that very well." Violet quipped after realizing Isobel wasn't backing down. 

"I know it doesn't," Isobel started cheerfully. "I just enjoy unnerving you sometimes." Violet frowned at this admission.

"And why do you enjoy doing that, pray?"

"It's fun to put you in your place sometimes," Isobel smiled brightly, causing Violet's expression to sour. "I almost never get the chance to do so, and I savor it when I do." Her smile never faltered in spite of the darkening of Violet's face. 

"You're such a fox, sometimes." Violet commented, looking away forcefully. Her cousin shrugged, her smile still intact and Violet had to wonder if the woman's cheeks were burning yet. Isobel stopped laughing to herself after she had remembered another piece of information, and it puzzled her so.

"How did he get into the garden?" She asked Violet, who had noticed the quick change on her mood. The Dowager offered her no response. 

"It's been nearly seven decades since I first met Robert, and I still haven't figured it out. He wouldn't tell me during our three-year affair. No that he's dead-"

"He's what?" Isobel interrupted. "We've been sitting here for over an hour and the fact that the man is dead now comes up only now?" The Baroness demanded, and Violet looked like a deer caught in headlights. 

"How was I supposed to tell you? Oh Isobel, dear. The first man I ever loved is dead now and he had written me a letter nine years after we broke off and his daughter wrote me the news."

"There was a letter?" Isobel asked quite loudly, whether is was the shock or disbelief, Isobel herself couldn't tell. Violet looked at her, eyes wide.

"Oh? Did I not tell you?" She asked the younger woman innocently, and Isobel's eyes had bugged out. 

"Of course you told me! Because this is how a person would react if they had already known something!" Isobel clapped back sarcastically. The Dowager Countess had the respect to look sheepish at that. "Why are you leaving these things out of your stories?" She asked, exasperated. 

"Anyway," Violet continued, ignoring Isobel's question. "Last night, I received two letters up returning from Downton. One was from him daughter, the second one was from him." Isobel nodded, urging for Violet to continue. 

"The letter his daughter sent me was about Robert's death. He had dementia," Isobel nodded, her face sympathetic.

"It's a very heart-breaking disease indeed," she said sadly. 

"And there was another letter in the envelope, it was from Robert. He wrote it in 1868, nine years after I put an end to our affair. He was never able to send it when he was still alive. And how I wish he did." Isobel furrowed her brows in concern, noticing the smallest break in Violet's voice. 

"His daughter found the letter in a box under his bed, and may God bless her, decided to send it to me." Violet said, looking off to the side. "I just wish we had more time," she whispered to herself. 

"As Shakespeare once said," Isobel started, effectively drawing Violet from her trance. "Time is very slow for those who wait. Very fast for those who are scared. Very long for those who lament. Very short for those who celebrate. But for those who love, time is eternal."

"What am I supposed to do with that information?" Violet asked grumpily.

"Remember that some part of you will always love him. You gave Robert your whole heart and a part of it died with him." Isobel explained, and Violet stayed silent. 

The two matriarchs sat together in Cavenham's drawing room in silence. Neither of them knew how much time had passed until Mead walked in, standing proud. 

"Your Ladyship," he addressed Isobel. "Lord Merton has arrived from London." He informed her. Nodding once in thanks, Isobel turned to Violet. "Would you like to stay for dinner? We won't change." She offered her cousin, and she saw her hesitate. Realizing just who she was worried about, Isobel was quick to assure her. 

"Igor doesn't dine with us if that's what your worried about." She turned to Mead. "Has Prince Kuragin even arrived yet?" She asked the butler, who nodded.

"However, Lord Merton's valet found him asleep in the guest room." He answered and this time, Violet nodded.

"Alright, I'll stay for dinner," and Isobel smiled brightly.

"Would you tell Mrs Walters that the Dowager is staying for dinner?" She asked Mead, and he nodded before before swiftly leaving the room to relay Lady Merton's request. 

Isobel offered her arm to Violet, who took it with a confused expression.

"Shall we go look at the garden?" She offered, which did nothing to clear up Violet's confusion.

"What for?" She asked the Baroness suspiciously, and Isobel smirked cheekily.

"If my memory serves me correctly, we have some Forget Me Nots in the garden," she chuckled teasingly.

In a moment of childish weakness, Violet elbowed Isobel in the ribs and laughed triumphantly as her cousin groaned and doubled over slightly, clutching her side dramatically.

**•tbc•  
**


	8. Of  Marriage and Elopements

_**Leaves her desires at the welcome mat** _

_**When she walks in** _

_**I know a boy** _

_**Who likes to keep his burner on** _

**•June 28, 1925•**

_Dower House_

**11:10 AM**

Spratt opened the door to Her Ladyship's drawing room with Lady Rosamund Painswick at his heels.

"Robert didn't tell me you were coming up this week," Violet said after Rosamund gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"That's because I didn't tell him," Rosamund replied as she sat down, smoothing her skirts as she did so. "I wanted to surprise you." At this, her mother raised a brow.

"But you've always hated surprises." Violet retorted flatly to which Rosamund rolled her eyes. "Now, what did you come here for?" She asked her daughter, clearly not in the mood to beat around the bush and Rosamund hesitated. Something Violet caught.

"Rosamund, I am your mother not the town sheriff." Violet snapped impatiently. "You almost never come up here unannounced, so you might as well tell me now," the Dowager pressed. Rosamund stared at her mother blankly, refusing to give in to her wishes. Not yet, at least.

Spratt came in once again, this time carrying a tea tray with him. Rosamund smiled at the butler gratefully as he handed her the a teacup and saucer. As they sipped their tea, Violet looked at her daughter expectantly. Rosamund sighed, there was no point withholding the information is was going to reveal anyway.

"About a month ago, there was this man that knocked on my door..." She began, and Violet placed her tea down, listening intently. "He had a strong accent, and he looked so familiar." Rosamund continued, and her mother raised a brow.

"You took the train from London to Yorkshire to tell me about a foreigner that came knocking on your door one day?" She questioned her daughter, her voice flattening after each word she spoke. Rosamund nodded urgently and Violet shook her head.

"My dear, the man is a foreigner. They are different from the English, maybe he was just caroling." Violet offered, and the younger woman looked at her mother as if she were a foreigner as well.

"Caroling?" Rosamund asked in disbelief. "Of all things you could think of, caroling is the first thing that comes to mind with you, Mama?" She repeated, laughter bubbling in her throat. Violet glared half-heartedly at her daughter, who had dissolved into a fit of giggles. The Dowager allowed herself a small smile at her daughter's amusement, even though it was at her expense.

As Rosamund's laughs softened, Violet looked at her expectantly.

"Caroling," Rosamund murmured to herself, shaking her head lightly. "Oh, that's brilliant," she told herself softly.

"Are you quite finished?" Violet snapped, drawing Rosamund away from her thoughts which were quite amusing. Her daughter nodded calmly, however her face was still split in an obnoxious grin. She ignored this fact and met Rosamund's eyes.

"What was so special about this man?" The Countess asked her daughter, who bit her lip before forming a coherent response.

"He was looking for Isobel," she told Violet tentatively, trying to ease her mother into the conversation she and the man had the month before. At this, Violet narrowed her eyes.

"Isobel? As in, Isobel Grey?" She asked for confirmation. Rosamund nodded her affirmation. "Whoever this is, what would he want with her?"

"Actually, he was looking for Isobel Crawley," Rosamund added, a helpful addition or not, it made his request for the Lady Merton make a little more sense. "I asked him how he knew her," Rosamund inhaled quickly.

Here we go.

"He said they met through you," she looked pointedly at her mother. "That you met fifty years ago, but grew apart." Violet looked away from the view of the gardens, shooting a glare in her daughter's direction.

"He said what?" Violet ground out through (slightly) gritted teeth.

"That the two of you knew each other some fifty years ago," Rosamund repeated, not seeing the problem. It was no fault of hers, really. By god, Violet wasn't even sure Rosamund knew she and Patrick were in Russia at all, had it not been for Rose's tea party for the refugees. "I didn't think much of it," her daughter continued. "You have lived a long life and you traveled with Papa when Robert and I were still children. It all added up to me." Rosamund paused her rambling when she realized her mother had not said a word.

"Mama? Mama, are you alright?" Rosamund called gently, snapping Violet from her reverie.

"Yes, yes." Violet replied distractedly. "You were saying?"

Rosamund looked at her mother disbelievingly, but quickly shrugged the feeling off.

"Judging from his accent he was Russian," Violet's grip on her cane had loosened considerably, causing it to clatter on the floor. Rosamund jumped at the sound it made when it hit the hardwood.

How dare he! If Rosamund was speaking about the person Violet thought she was speaking of... the nerve of that man! Going to her daughter's home and asking for Isobel. Had he no shame?

"Mama!" She exclaimed. "Are you sure you're alright?" Ignoring her daughter's question, Violet spoke with a newfound urgency.

"Did he give you his name?" She asked, her voice bordering on hysterical. Rosamund looked at Violet, confusion and desperation clouding her sharp features. "Rosamund, answer me." Violet demanded evenly, her voice much calmer than it was mere seconds ago but the hysteria was definitely still present.

"He did," she answered quietly. "Igor Kuragin," Rosamund recalled and Violet's breath hitched.

The Dowager closed her eyes and breathed deeply, an attempt to recollect herself after the very minor slip of her cool façade.

"Is the name not familiar to you?" Violet asked her daughter after a breath. Rosamund shrugged carelessly as she rucked her mind as to where she had heard the man's name before they had formally met that May.

"St Petersburg. 1874," Violet added and Rosamund's eyes widened.

"The Prince," she breathed and her mother nodded in confirmation. "He was here in Yorkshire, that's why he came here. To pursue you once again?" Once more, Violet nodded. "Well, where is he now?"

"Cavenham Park," Violet answered nonchalantly and Rosamund felt her eyes bug out.

"You don't mean..."

"As a matter of fact I do," Violet responded, a twinge of bitterness in her voice.

"So he's been staying with Isobel and Dickie all this time?" Rosamund asked her mother, feeling rather scandalized on her mother's behalf. "Why haven't they sent him away?"

The Dowager Countess sighed tiredly.

"Isobel and Dickie are both very kind souls. Neither of them would have the heart kick Igor out of Cavenham." Rosamund looked down at her fingers as Violet spoke. Finally, she asked her mother the question that had been nagging at her for the past minute.

"Are you comfortable with Igor being so close to you?"

And for once, Violet's mind had drawn a blank.

**•June 28, 1925•**

_Library, Downton Abbey_

**5:45 PM**

"Rosamund! What a pleasant surprise," he smiled at his younger sister, kissing her cheek briefly and Cora rose to do the same. "Are you staying for a while?" And Rosamund nodded sheepishly.

"I'm very sorry for not letting you know beforehand. I was going to go back to London tonight but I think I've missed the last train." Cora shook her head.

"There's no need to apologize," she told Rosamund with a smile as she rang for Mrs Hughes. The Scottish housekeeper entered the library, looking up at the three expectantly.

"You called, Your Ladyship?" she asked respectfully. The Lady Grantham smiled appreciatively, nodding.

"Mrs Hughes, would you please set a room up for Lady Rosamund." She requested and the Scotswoman bowed slightly, signaling she would have it done right away. "Thank you," Cora smiled as the Housekeeper left the library swiftly.

"Thank you, Cora." Rosamund told her sister in law.

"I guess this means you're going to be at dinner tonight?" Robert asked and she nodded.

"Seems like it," the red head answered. Robert poured his sister a glass of brandy when a question came to his mind.

"Why did you come up? Unfinished business, perhaps?" Rosamund shook her head.

"No, I came up for Mama." She confessed. Robert exchanged a confused glance with his wife, who looked just as perplexed, shrugging her shoulders.

"Mama?" Robert repeated and Rosamund nodded in confirmation. "Has something happened to her?"

Sighing deeply, Rosamund moved from her spot by the desk. Deciding to sit on one of the many armchairs, she sipped her brandy to gather her thoughts. The Lord and Lady Grantham looked at the Lady Painswick expectantly and Rosamund looked at them right back.

"Igor Kuragin," she said without any preamble. Robert still looked confused and she heard Cora gasped quietly.

"He's back?" She asked, lowering her voice. "I thought he went back to Paris with his wife?" Robert looked between the two women in exasperation.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" He demanded, feeling completely in the dark.

Cora and Rosamund both looked at him, as if unsure he could be trusted. Then they looked at each other, their expressions changing in the slightest as they continued their silent conversation. At least, that's what it looked like from Robert's perspective. He would have been amused if he weren't feeling so lost.

It seemed the two women had come to an agreement, for they both looked back at him. The Earl stared back at the two of them, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"Well?" He prompted. Cora took a deep breath before speaking.

"Do you remember when Rose hosted that tea party for the refugees? And we laid out the relics from Mama's visit to Russia with your father?" Robert nodded.

"And she started talking about a ball in the Winter Palace when a man started to tell the story with her. Do you remember him?" Once again, he nodded. Where was this story going?

"Well, he's in Yorkshire now." Rosamund completed bluntly and Robert blinked once, then twice, then another blink. His sister looked at him, half in concern and half in amusement.

"Robert," Cora called, touching his arm gently. That seemed to shake him out of his reverie as he looked at Rosamund and Cora in shock.

"I thought Mama reunited him with his wife? I thought they left for Paris?" He ground out. Cora nodded.

"They did. But she died, remember? It somehow made it into the papers here," she told him gently. Robert's eyebrows raised again, and he heard Rosamund snort. He shot her a glare and all she did was smirk back.

Robert took another swig of his brandy as he processed the very little information Cora and Rosamund provided.

"And how does Mama fit into all of this?" He asked warily, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing deeply.

"He asked for her hand in marriage," Rosamund informed him as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

In Cora's opinion, his spit take was the greatest thing she's seen all week.

In the corner of the library, Tiaa whimpered, startled by Robert's sudden reaction. She calmed down when she realized there was no danger.

"Marriage?" He asked incredulously. "She barely knew this man and... he's proposing marriage? I need to sit down." So he sat down in an armchair.

"She nearly eloped with this man all those years ago, I can see why he still wants to do so now after all this time." Rosamund said. Both Robert and Cora looked up sharply.

"Mama? Elope?" Cora asked disbelief coloring her voice, laughing slightly. "Traditional, darling Mama?" She repeated, sitting next to Robert with her jaw on the floor.

"Close your mouth, Cora. It's very unladylike," Rosamund told her sister in law, amusement shining in her face and very clear in her voice. Said sister in law shot her a half-hearted glare.

"And just how do you know all this?" Robert questioned and his sister looked at him blankly.

"It's in Mama's unpublished memoir," she told him with a flat look.

"Ha ha ha," Robert responded, his voice as flat as Rosamund's expression. "Mama told you, didn't she?"

At this Rosamund nodded, not needing to add anything at the moment.

"How do you fit into all of this?" Cora asked after a few beats of silence.

"About a month ago, he came to London and knocked on my door. He was looked for Cousin Isobel," Rosamund explained, although that just seemed to confuse Cora.

"What did he want with Isobel?" She asked, her eyes narrowed him confusion. Rosamund shrugged, wishing she had the answer to Cora's question.

"All I know is that he met Cousin Isobel through Mama. Why he was looking for her in particular, I haven't got a clue as to why." Another thing had been nagging at Cora.

"Why couldn't he just come to Yorkshire directly? Why did he have to come to you? I mean, he's even been in this very estate," she mused out loud.

Rosamund opened her mouth to speak, until she realized she had no answer. She shook her head, now seemingly just as confused.

"Anyway," Robert interrupted as he turned back to his sister. "You were saying?" He prompted.

"I invited him in for tea and gave him directions how to get to Cavenham. That was the end of our interaction, really." Rosamund said off-handedly.

"According to Mama, he's been staying at Cavenham for the past month." Robert's eyes widened comically and Rosamund would have laughed if she wasn't so concerned.

Cora snapped her head in Rosamund direction.

"What?" She asked, her voice going up an octave.

"That's what I thought," Rosamund agreed with Cora's sentiment.

"So Isobel and Dickie have been housing this man for the past month? We've had a bout four dinner with them." He asked Rosamund, still trying to process the unbelievable conversation. Which they were still having.

Rosamund nodded, biting her lip. Robert sighed heavily.

"The Mertons are very private people, I'm sure they wouldn't want Cavenham to become a house of scandal," Cora reasoned with her husband. "And I don't think they would have told us because it's not really our business."

"Well it has to do with Mama, doesn't it. What concerns Mama concerns us." Robert argued fiercely.

Cora pursed her lips at her husband's reasoning.

"If Isobel and Dickie Merton are private people, Mama is lock and key. She hates speaking of her past unless the situation calls for it."

"Or if she's trying to prove someone wrong," Rosamund added.

The three of them were silent for a few minutes until Rosamund spoke up once more.

"I suspect Mary knows as well," she continued. At this, Cora looked up.

"Mary?" She asked, her forehead creased in confusion. "How would she know about this?"

"Mary and Isobel are quite close, remember." Rosamund replied, now sitting across from the couple. "I wouldn't be surprised if it came up in one of their conversations.

Cora bobbed her head in resignation.

"More than likely," Robert mumbled as he rubbed his hands over his face.

"I think it's best if Mama doesn't find out that Robert and I know now as well." Lady Grantham decided, determination in her voice.

Robert and Rosamund immediately chorused their agreement.

**•December 25, 1874•**

_Winter Palace, Russia_

_They had locked themselves in the abandoned apartments of Nicholas I and Alexandra Feodorovna, the Princess Charlotte of Prussia._

_The red headed beauty lounged on the chaise as he watched her loved fish something out of his coat pocket._

_He handed her a small box covered in velvet. The young Countess looked at him in confusion._

_"Take it," Igor insisted gently, holding the box out for her to take. Violet took it hesitantly, not daring to open it._

_"What is it?" She asked suspiciously, running her fingernail through the luxurious material._

_"If you open it, your question will be answered," the Prince replied in a teasing manner. Violet got up from her (very comfortable) perch on the chaise to join him on the bench in front of the bed._

_He wrapped a possessive arm around Violet's waist as she sat down, pulling her close to him._

_Continuing to eye the man next to her, Violet opened the box slowly and gasped when she saw what was nestled inside._

_"A ring?" Violet whispered shakily, fully looking up at Igor._

_It was a beautiful ring and Violet couldn't help but stare._

_An emerald cut diamond had been delicately placed on top of two rings that had been fused together to make a singular ring. Violet studied the ring further to discover that one of the bands had been encrusted with rubies and the other had been plain._

_"It's gorgeous," she finally breathed, still looking at the piece of jewelry she held in her hands._

_"Marry me," Igor told her softly. So softly Violet nearly missed it. She looked at him, her sapphire colored eyes wide._

_"What?" She whispered, her voice breaking ever so slightly._

_"Marry me," he repeated, louder this time._

_Violet shook her head in disbelief, at a loss for words. She smiled sardonically to herself. Igor was the only one who could render her speechless no matter what the circumstance._

_"We can't." Violet insisted firmly. "We're both married-"_

_"-to people who would rather be with each other rather than us." Igor interrupted, and Violet shot him a glare._

_"We have reputations to uphold," she tried to reason out._

_"You never cared about that until your predecessor lectured you on the importance of propriety." He countered once more._

_"Children." Violet said bluntly and Igor looked her in confusion._

_"I have children, Igor." Violet stressed. "Children whom I love very much. Children that I cannot leave for... this."_

_Igor sighed and shook his head, taking her hand in his and gently interlacing their fingers. His rough and calloused, hers elegant and feminine._

_"I love you," he said simply. Violet squeezed his hand gently._

_"I love you too," she replied as she drew his hand to her lips to place a tender kiss on his skin. "But I don't know if I can marry you. I don't want to live the rest of my life hiding from the world."_

_"I do not wish for you to give me an answer tonight. I want you to think about it," Igor told her kissing her lips softly._

_Covering her hands which were still gingerly holding the box, he closed it with a snap._

_Violet closed her eyes and inhaled shakily, prompting Igor to tenderly kiss each eyelid. His lips trailed down to the bridge of her nose, each cheek, each corner of her mouth, and finally back to her lips._

_Releasing one of her hands from him hold, Violet cupped the back of his head, tangling her fingers through the brown locks._

_"Don't think of it right now," Igor whispered against her, his lips now trailing down her neck. "Don't think of anything right now."_

_Violet nodded breathily in response. Igor mumbled something against her collarbone and Violet had nearly missed it. The slight pleading in his voice broke her heart, and she couldn't help but comply to his wishes._

_"Let tonight be about us. Just this once."_

**•tbc•**


	9. How Fast the Night Changes

_** He’s always running with no one to keep warm ** _

_** It’s like he’s flirting  ** _

_** With the smoke alarm ** _

_** His fire is fading ** _

** •July 1, 1925• **

_ Dower House _

** 1:40 AM **

Violet woke with a start, her chest heaved and she could feel the cold sweat slowly dripping down her temples. Pulling herself up, Violet leaned her head back against the wooden headboard as she tried to regulate her rapid heartbeat. Inhaling deeply, Violet turned her lamplight on and placed her glasses on her face. 

Once her heart didn't feel like it was going to jump out of her chest, Violet hauled herself out of bed, ditching her cane for once. She trudged slowly to her vanity, Gods be damned if she needed that blasted cane to walk such a short distance. 

Finally reaching her vanity, Violet sat down heavily on the seat, hip throbbing slightly. She rubbed the edge of her hip gently in hopes to soothe it. 

Thin fingers reached for the jewelry box pressed up against the mirror and Violet unlatched the lock gently. It opened with a small click and creaked when Violet lifted the lid. 

The Dowager Countess reached for a familiar velvet box she had hidden underneath... what even was inside this thing?

"These things should be in the family vault," Violet murmured as she started to remove the pieces she would put away for safe keeping. 

That kept her rather busy for the next fifteen minutes. 

After everything was where she wanted it to be, Violet turned her attention to a velvet box. The only piece of jewelry that was placed inside a smaller box. Steeling herself, she opened the box slowly and almost immediately tears sprung to her eyes. 

It looked just the way it did fifty years ago. Perhaps a bit dusty, but it still took her breath away as if they were still hiding out in abandoned apartments of the Winter Palace.

Picking the engagement ring up gingerly, she examined the diamond carefully. Violet rubbed her thumb over the stone, finding comfort in the smooth expanse. Holding the ring to her lips, she placed a fleeting kiss on it before placing it down on her vanity.

And she stared. For quite some time. The way he felt, the way he smelled, the way he smiled. Thoughts of him, and only him swirled through her mind. 

Violet smiled ruefully as she continued to stare at the offending piece of jewelry. 

Realizing it was deep into the night and she (probably) was the only one awake, Violet slipped the ring onto her finger. 

It felt almost... right. However, bile rose up her throat as memories of the Princess Kuragin came flooding back as well.

** •December 31, 1874• **

_St Petersburg, Russia_

_Igor quietly helped Violet into the carriage with a slight smile. She closed the carriage door silently, and turned back to him with a bright smile._

_“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Violet whispered giddily. She pushed thoughts of Robert and Rosamund aside, focusing on her newfound happiness._

_Violet clutched a picture frame close to her chest. A photo of Robert and Rosamund was placed inside, and she smiled sadly at their beaming faces._

_“Are you ready?” She felt, rather than heard, Igor whisper in her ear. She nodded at him tearfully and he went to signal the coachman._

_As the horses started to trot along the pavement, the door on Violet’s side had flown open. The couple came face to face with an irate Irina Kuragin._

_“You bitch,” she snarled and Violet’s breath caught in her throat. They had been caught red-handed._

_Irina’s scowl deepened as she surged forward, grasping Violet’s red locks tightly in a fist. The Countess cried out in pain and Irina slapped a free hand over her mouth._

_“You leave us quietly, and no one needs to know about this,” she whispered menacingly._

_Violet glared at her in spite of how her head was angled and Irina pulled her hair back further._

_"Who do you think you are," she growled. With that, she dragged the Countess of Grantham out of the carriage by the hair, causing Violet to stumble. Irina didn't seem to care as she continued to walk, Violet forced to hunch her back to lessen the pressure on her head._

_They made it to the private gardens when Irina released her hold, shoving Violet down in the process. As Violet sat there, gingerly touching the back of her head, Irina tackled her, wrapping manicured fingers around Lady Grantham's throat._

_"I told you I want you gone," Irina started, her brown eyes piercing through Violet's blue ones. "And when your husband decides he wants to leave, you go with him."_

_The Princess tightened the hold of Violet's throat, cutting off most of the woman's air off and she nodded frantically in fear of her life. Before releasing her hold on Violet, Irina leaned down to whisper one last thing in her ear._

_"He will never be yours. In this life or the next."_

** •July 1, 1925• **

_Dower House_

** 2:50 AM **

She's been awake for over an hour, staring at an unfulfilled engagement ring and reminiscing over a dead Princess. Smirking to herself, she sighed.

What had her life come to?

Looking up from the ring, Violet stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was old and frail and tired. Wrinkles lined her face and her skin had sagged. It didn't sag all that much, but they could still be seen. She turned her face slightly to the left and delicately ran her fingers along the curvature of her jawline.

The skin of her jaw sagged too, what once was sharp and proud had become old and soft. She remembered what it felt like to be beautiful. An exhilarating feeling, really. It could be quite bothersome as well, but it was nice to feel wanted then. 

She smiled fondly as she recalled bits of a conversation she had with Robert Williams before she ever met Patrick. Oh, how she missed him and the way he made her smile. 

Violet quickly brushed away a stray tear that had managed to escape from the corner of her eye. As she did so, the diamond of the ring had glistened in the mirror, causing Violet to look back at it once more. 

She memorized the way it looked on her finger, and slowly slipped it off, placing it back in its box. 

Breathing in shakily, Violet then placed the ring box into the larger jewelry box, making sure to lock the latches carefully. She sat there, staring intensely at the now closed box before deciding to get up.

Placing both her hands on the table, she pushed herself into standing, wincing as she felt her hip start to throb again. Looking around her bedroom, Violet realized that her cane was next to the bed, and there was no point trying to get it. 

Bracing herself, Violet staggered slowly to the bed and when she reached it, slumped into it with a sigh of relief. Tucking her legs underneath the duvet, Violet pulled the covers up to her chest and looked up at the ceiling. 

Her right hand twirled her wedding band around her finger, and the motion had helped the Dowager Countess to fall asleep in a dreamless slumber. 

** •September 4, 1857• **

_ A hidden garden... somewhere _

_ "I'm telling you, it actually works!" Robert told her excitedly. Violet looked at him questioningly, lips pursed in apprehension.  _

_ "I doubt it does," she told him gently, but he wouldn't be swayed. Robert shook his head frantically and tugged on her hand. Violet squealed as he pulled up from the grass, tangling his fingers in hers. "What are you doing?" She asked him with a laugh.  _

_ Robert smiled mischievously before running off, pulling her along with him. The wind whipped her hair in all different directions and the sound of Violet's laughter pushed him to keep running.  _

_ Releasing their tangled fingers, Violet ran ahead of him, her hat falling off in the process. Robert bent to pick it up quickly before catching up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist.  _

_ Violet Ames giggled as he caught her, pressing her hands against his chest to steady herself. She looked up at him with bright eyes and a large smile. Robert kissed her briefly, before pulling away from her and taking her hand once more. _

_ Almost like Deja-vu, he started running once more with Violet's hand in his.  _

_ Once they had reached a lovely patch of garden, the fertile soil covered in bright flowers, Robert turned to face her once more. Gathering her slender frame into his arms, he twirled her around and reveled in the sound of her giggles.  _

_ "It's a very beautiful garden, isn't it?" He whispered into her ear, and he felt Violet nod against him.  _

_ She pressed her forehead against his chin, and Robert inhaled her scent of honey and lavender. If this is what serenity felt like, he would stay like this forever if he could. _

** •July 1, 1925• **

_ Cavenham Park _

** 2:05 AM **

After tossing and turning for God knows how long, Igor threw the covers off his legs and reached for his dressing gown. He secured the belt around his waist before walking to the halls of Cavenham's West Wing. 

Igor walked the length of the halls in hopes exhaustion would set in, but his attempts were fruitless. Rubbing his hands over his face with a sigh, Igor walked down the steps slowly, in fear of waking up the Lord and Lady Merton.

Although their bedroom was all the way in the East Wing, he couldn't take that chance. Once he had gotten to the bottom of the grand staircase, Igor shoved his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown.

He came to a stop at the French doors that opened to the vast grounds and gardens of the estate. 

Unlocking the door quietly, Igor stepped out to the gardens for the first time in months. He walked along the garden for some time before finally stopping to sit on a bench. He spread his arms on either side of the bench’s backing and closed his eyes, sighing contently. 

The distinct smell of lavender hit his nose and he opened his eyes, realizing that the flower he remembered so fondly was in the garden behind him.

Reaching out to rub a bud between his fingers, his thoughts drifted to Violet and all of their broken promises.

“I’m going to marry you if it’s the last thing I do,” he whispered to himself. Those had been their parting words when she left Russia... for good.

** •July 1, 1925• **

_ Dower House _

** 11:00 AM **

Isobel marched up the stairs of Cousin Violet’s house, accompanied by Denker. 

“Her Ladyship was still asleep when I brought her breakfast tray up,” the lady’s maid started to explain. “But she was still asleep and when I went to wake her up, she told me not to bother.” Isobel nodded as she followed along with her story. 

“And now?” She asked, halting her steps to look at Denker expectantly. 

“She still refuses to get up. I was hoping you might be able to coax her out of bed, Milady.” She admitted. Isobel nodded once more as she continued to walk the path to Cousin Violet’s bedroom. 

The two women made it to the door when Isobel turned to face Denker.

“I can take it from here,” she told the woman. 

Sensing Lady Merton’s dismissal, Denker bowed her head slightly and started down the hall once more. 

Knocking gently on Violet's door, Isobel called out.

"Cousin Violet?" No answer. She knocked again, and she still heard no sound on the other side of the door. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she gripped the doorknob and with a firm twist she opened it.

Violet heard knocking a on her door for what seemed like the seventh time and ignored it, rolling over so her back was facing said door. Her half-conscious mind seemed to pick up on a voice from out in the hall.

Waving it off as Spratt and Denker back with their daily squabble, Violet tuned out the sound of the voices (like she usually did when they argued) and nearly fell back into the realm of Morpheus.

The door creaked open and the Dowager's eyes shot open quickly. Oh, she was going to kill whoever just entered. 

Violet turned her head to see who had come in without her permission (it most likely Denker) and was taken aback when she was met with Cousin Isobel's look of disapproval.

"W-what are you doing here?" Violet asked her cousin blearily, trying to blink away the remnants of sleep. She balanced herself up on one elbow, staring at Isobel with her eyes only half open. 

"I was told you refused to get out of bed," the Baroness replied simply. She glared heatedly at her cousin, which didn't exactly have the desired effect. 

Instead of looking like the imposing Dowager Countess persona she had built for herself, she ended up looking like an angry little kitten. Isobel couldn't help but chuckle. 

"That look doesn't work when you're still in bed and half asleep," Isobel told her cousin teasingly. Closing the door gently, she walked up to Violet's bed and prodded her blanket covered legs.

"Let's get up," she tried to coax. "Or we're gonna miss luncheon." Isobel told Violet, who still refused to budge. 

"I got very little sleep last night, Isobel. Please let me be." Violet sighed. Responding to Violet with a sigh of her own, Isobel sat down on he edge of the bed.

"What? Are you going to drag me out of this bed?" The Dowager snapped irritably. 

"No..." Isobel said patiently. "I'm going to figure out why you're a lot grumpier than usual." Isobel told her cousin, speaking slowly. As if she were speaking to a misbehaving infant. 

Realizing she wasn't going to be able to sleep any longer, Violet blew a tendril of hair out of her face and sat up slowly. Leaning against the wooden headboard, she looked at Isobel with a raised brow, hands placed in her lap. 

They stared at each other for a long moment and Violet finally spoke. 

"There was an engagement ring." Isobel stared at her dumbfounded, and a bit of disbelief. Violet rolled her eyes again. "Yes, an engagement ring. Like the one Dickie gave you when you said you'd marry him?" Violet asked, enjoying Isobel's speechlessness.

"Yes, I'm quite familiar with the term," Isobel snapped back quickly. The Baroness touched the marquise-cut diamond thoughtlessly. "Just... who gave it to you? Robert Williams?"

Violet shook her head and suddenly Isobel understood. 

“Igor...” she voiced her cousin’s unspoken thoughts. The Dowager's silence was enough confirmation for the both of them. "Is he the reason you won't get out of bed? You've managed to function for the last three months with him near, why pout about it now?"

"Don't be daft," Violet admonished, shooting her cousin a deadpan look. "I'm still here because I haven't gotten enough sleep," she told Isobel with narrowed eyes. 

"Why?" Isobel asked, her head cocked to the side. "You've never had a sleepless night? Other than tonight, of course." 

The Dowager looked almost affronted at the thought. 

"Having sleepless nights is an ill-bred thing to have," she said indignantly, challenging Isobel with a look and an arched eyebrow. 

"No, dear. That's being unhappy in a marriage," Isobel told her with great amusement, taking pleasure in the way Violet swore under her breath (what an undignified thing to do). 

Violet rubbed her temples tiredly, trying to fight the oncoming headache.

Patting her cousin’s leg, Isobel stood up.

“Come on. Get up. We’ll go somewhere for luncheon.” Violet peeked one eye through her fingers (which she had been rubbing over her face as Isobel spoke) to look at the Baroness. 

After realizing she wouldn’t budge, Violet nodded grudgingly. 

“I’ll call you Denker,” Isobel said over her shoulder as she stepped back out to the hall, closing the door behind her. 

Once Isobel had gone off to find her lady’s maid, Violet slumped back against the headboard. She sighed deeply as she prepared herself for the next day. 

Oh, why couldn’t she just go back to sleep?

** •January 1, 1876• **

_ Lady Grantham’s Bedroom _

_ Patrick kissed the junction of his wife’s neck and shoulder delicately. “Happy New Year, Darling.” Violet smiled slightly at her husband’s affection and turned around in his embrace.  _

_ “Happy New Year,” she whispered back with a smile, tracing her fingers against his lips. She pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth and snuggled into his chest.  _

_ “Why haven’t we been doing this ever since?” He murmured into her hair, and Violet sighed lightly. She dislodged herself from her (very comfortable) position, propping herself up on one elbow.  _

_ “Because back then... we could care less about each other,” she told him bluntly, feeling Patrick wince slightly from underneath her. “We had... different interests at the time.” Violet added, knowing that Patrick wasn’t the only one at fault here. _

_ He kissed her forehead gently before drawing Violet back into his embrace.  _

_ “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, kissing her temple lightly. Patrick felt Violet nod against the crook of his neck and he relaxed his shoulders slightly.  _

_ She pressed a kiss against his pulse point and let herself relax with his arms around her. It’s been so long since she’s felt beautiful and loved. Not since... Igor.  _

_ As if sensing his wife’s thoughts, Patrick asked. _

_ “Do you still have the ring?” Violet furrowed her brows in confusion and tilted her head to look up at him.  _

_ She held up her left hand and the round cut diamond of her ring caught light of the rising sun through the sheer curtains.  _

_ “This one?” She asked, confused and Patrick shook his head.  _

_ “You know the one I’m talking about,” he told her quietly. Violet sighed and dropped her hand when she figured out what he truly meant. _

_ “I do,” she admitted to him just as quietly. “Do you want me to get rid of it?” Violet questioned, burrowing deeper beneath the duvet. _

_ “No.” Patrick said solidly and she looked at him in surprise.  _

_ “Are you sure?” His Countess asked tentatively and he nodded in confirmation. Lifting one hand to her cheek, her caressed her soft skin and leaned closer to place a tender kiss to the top of her nose.  _

_ “I am.”  _

_ “Why?” Violet said, her voice barely above a whisper. The Earl of Grantham sighed deeply and paused before answering. _

_ “Because I’ve been a terrible husband to you for the past fourteen years, Violet.” At this, she looked off to where the windows were, blinking back bitter tears.  _

_ “I might be your husband, but he loved you more than I ever did back then. And I refuse to be the person that erases the only memory of the man that made you happy when I couldn’t.”  _

**•tbc•**


	10. The Tiara Shall Not Slip

**_But still we laugh_ **

**_We cry, we fall, we get high_ **

**_Just like we were kids_ **

**_Just like we were kids again_ **

**•December 28, 1876•**

_Downton, The Library_

_"Happy Birthday Darling," Patrick whispered with a smile as he handed Violet a glass of champagne._

_"Thank you," she whispered back, taking the flute with a sweet kiss to his lips. "What prompted the celebration?" She laughed as he pulled her closer by the waist with his free arm._

_She pressed a chaste kiss against his lips as she was pulled and leaned her forehead against the side of his face._

_"To make up for all the missed birthdays," Patrick responded simply, a hint of remorse in his voice. Violet nodded against his cheek, saying nothing._

_"The children have been put to bed," she informed him after a minute of silence and she felt her husband nod against her._

_"I know," Patrick murmured softly. He relinquished his hold on her and walked to the desk across the fireplace. Looking over at her husband curiously, Violet shrugged inwardly and went to sit in an armchair._

_A neatly wrapped present that Patrick waved in front of her face startled Violet out of her musings. She looked up at him questioningly, and he merely smiled._

_"It's for you," her husband prompted gently._

_"Oh," Violet said, the surprise evident in her voice. She took the box from his hands and he took the flute of champagne from her in turn._

_The Countess peeled the paper off to come face to face with a velvet box. Her smile faltered somewhat. The last time she received a velvet box... it was from him._

_However, this one was quite large. It seemed to be about the size of her face even though it was rather light for its size._

_She opened the box cautiously and gasped as she saw the contents._

_"You can't be serious," she told Patrick disbelievingly as she looked up at him. Her husband only smiled in amusement as he placed both champagne flutes down before walking toward her._

_"I'm quite serious," he responds easily, sitting on the chair's armrest as he pressed a fleeting kiss to the top of her head. "I had it made for you," the Earl added nonchalantly._

_Violet opened her mouth to respond but soon closed it after realizing she had no response._

_She inspected the tiara in the box, feeling a little apprehensive about taking it out. The diadem was nestled in silk and encrusted with diamonds. The shape of the tiara itself had been reminiscent of that of the Greek Queen Hera._

_"I... thank you," she finally says after a few moment. "What prompted this?"_

_"It's your birthday." Patrick said simply, and Violet felt her stomach flutter._

_This was the first time in years she had gotten birthday present (excluding Robert and Rosamund, of course)._

_Her father had always prioritized Victoria over herself and Vivienne and Igor... well. Igor's ring couldn't exactly be considered a present anymore, could it? More of a broken promise._

_Shaking thoughts of the Russian Prince out of her head, she smiled up at her husband._

_"Well, thank you." She said, taking one of his hands in her own and kissing it._

_"You're very welcome," he responded kindly. "Why don't you try it on?" Her husband offered and Violet laughed slightly._

_"I don't think my hair would be able to handle it," she said lamely and Patrick raised an eyebrow at her._

_"That, is quite possibly the most pathetic excuse I've ever heard in my life." Violet shrugged her shoulders carelessly._

_"It's the only excuse I have," she offered looking up from the box._

_"Yes, I realize that." Patrick replied in amusement. "Please? For me."_

_Sighing heavily, Violet gave in knowing this was a battle she wouldn't win. She handed him the box and watched as he carefully lifted the tiara out of its box._

_"Do you know how to put a tiara on a person?" She asked with a cheeky grin._

_"I can certainly take them off," he muttered to himself and Violet felt her heart drop. Unwanted tears head welled up in her eyes and she blinked rapidly in hopes they'd disappear. Memories of Patrick and all these heiresses had sprung to her mind and she couldn't help but feel the hurt pounding in her chest like a drum._

_Patrick sensed his wife's discomfort, and immediately wished he could take his words back. He forced another smile on his face and turned the diadem around in his hands. He grasped Violet's free hand and hauled her up._

_The Countess of Grantham was a rather tall woman however, she was still a few inches shorter than he was._

_"Bend your head a bit, Darling." Patrick whispered to her, and she did so obediently. It was such a fluid motion, as if she was expecting him to say so. Safe to say, it unnerved Patrick more than anything._

_Trying to recall the things his mother would droll on about to his sister, he placed his thumb on the dimple of his wife's chin and his index finger on the space between her eyebrows. As he placed the tiara on her, he moved his fingers up so that his thumb took the place of his index finger. Said index finger had touched the tiara's base and he smiled contentedly._

_"There," he said proudly and Violet reached up to touch it lightly._

_"What was with the finger thing?" She asked, going slightly cross-eyed as she looked at her husband's thumb that was still pressed against her forehead._

_"It was something Mama would always nag Elizabeth and her lady's maid about. I never understood why, but she did." Patrick answered and Violet nodded. "It looks lovely on you," he murmured gently, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead._

_"Thank you," Violet blushed lightly, the slightest shade of pink coloring her bridge of her nose and the column of her throat. She reached behind her to pick up the box Patrick discarded on the armchair and opened it again. The Countess ran her fingers through the nest of silk with an absent mind, beginning to feel the weight of the tiara upon her head._

_As Violet did... whatever she was doing with the box, Patrick took the opportunity to study his wife in a manner he hadn't done since the day they first met._

_She had been young when his father brought her and her two other sisters to meet him. They had all been young. His mother detested every bit of Violet and adored every bit of Veronica. The only one who hadn't been vain or meek or... pathetic, really._

_She didn't fawn, she didn't care. She didn't want to be his accessory. She was her own person who wanted an equal, and it was clear she didn't find that in him. And yet, he chose her._

**•July 1, 1925•**

_Cavenham Park_

**12:30 PM**

"I can't believe you," Violet grumbled to Isobel grumpily. The Baroness remained unfazed by her cousin's foul mood as she sipped the water Mead poured out for them.

"I had to get you out of bed somehow," she responded nonchalantly, eyeing Violet with a cheeky smile.

"Hitting me over the head with a pillow does not speed up the process." The Countess complained, picking at a piece of lint that had clung to her dress.

"Evidently, it does," Isobel shot back just as quickly. Violet glared at her cousin, but said nothing more on the matter. "So what had been bothering you the past few days?" The Dowager arched an eyebrow at Isobel before shrugging her shoulders.

"I'm getting older," she replied simply and Isobel sighed heavily.

"Must you always be this stubborn?" The brunette asked in exasperation and Violet looked to her haughtily.

"Not stubborn. I am just a very self aware person," she said defensively.

"That's the diplomatic way of putting it," came a voice from the door, causing both women to look up. Violet gasped lightly, something that was not lost on Isobel.

The Baroness started to get up from her seat saying, "I think I'll give you both some privacy." But a quick look from Violet had her sitting back down, folding the corners of her napkin.

"There's no need Lady Merton," Igor added as he walked further into the room. The Prince stopped directly in front of the two women, staring intently at Violet.

The Dowager looked up, staring back at her former lover unflinchingly. Isobel looked off to the far wall, resisting the urge to get up and flee.

"It's been so long since we've seen each other face to face," Igor started softly, pulling out the chair intended for Lord Merton and sitting down.

"Yes, because fifty years pales in comparison to three months," Violet replied crisply as she straightened her back. (Which was quite a feat considering she was already wearing a corset.)

Isobel pursed her lips at Violet's rather dismissive tone but said nothing.

Igor, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the Dowager's smart remark and continued to speak.

"Why are you avoiding me?" He asked bluntly and Violet seemed taken aback for a moment.

"Why are you still in England?" Violet countered and Isobel rolled her eyes. This was going to be a long conversation.

"You still haven't given me an answer," Igor continued softly and Violet held her tongue for a moment. "I told you I would wait for as long as you wish."

"I never wanted you to wait for me," Violet replied just as softly, a slight rasp in her voice. "Our time together has passed and you should be mourning the death of your wife. Not pursuing an old lover." Isobel had to concede with Violet's point on that one, as much as she hated to admit it.

"I loved you more than I loved her," Violet laughed bitterly as he said this.

"That's what you told me when we were looking for Irina." She said softly and Igor chuckled.

"And it's still true."

Isobel sighed to herself. It was like Romeo and Juliet... but Romeo and Juliet are six times older.

**9:25 PM**

Dickie walked into their bedroom later that night and Isobel smiled at him. "How was London?" She asked as he walked over to the bed to kiss her cheek.

"It was quite tiring," he admitted as he shed his coat. Isobel nodded in agreement.

"I can imagine," she said with a soft chuckle. As the Baron got ready for bed, she turned another page in her book before looking back up at him. "Our estranged lovers finally met again." Dickie froze and turned to look at his wife with wide eyes.

"How? When?" He asked, stuttering slightly.

"Here," Isobel replied, amusement coloring her voice. "I had to drag Cousin Violet out of bed, so I brought her here for luncheon." At this, Dickie raised a brow. Sensing his confusion, Isobel filled in the blanks for him.

"How did you manage that?" He asked and Isobel couldn't help the light giggle that escaped her.

"Let's just say that pillows can be quite useful when it comes to getting a person out of bed." She replied, still in a fit of giggles. "It took some time, but it worked." Dickie nodded slowly, more amused by his wife's laughing than her actual response.

Shaking his head, he sat down on his side of the bed and returned to the matter they had been speaking about previously.

"Were you able to catch a few words of the conversation?" Dickie asked, looking at his wife. Isobel sobered up and cleared her throat before answering.

"A few words? I was present for the entire conversation," she nearly exclaimed, just barely keeping her voice at a reasonable decibel. "Cousin Violet didn't want me to leave the room. It was incredibly awkward for me and no doubt for her." At this, Dickie inclined his head and spoke in agreement.

"Who wouldn't be? Coming face to face with an old flame who had proposed marriage more than once, it puts you in an odd spot."

"Igor didn't seem to phased by it though," Isobel added thoughtfully. "I know he was aware I was in the room listening to every word. After all, he told me I could stay. Cousin Violet just glared."

"What did he say?" Dickie questioned as he tucked his legs underneath the duvet.

"He wanted another answer from her. He told her he would wait for however long. But I think you could guess what her answer was." Isobel gave her husband a meaningful look and he had fit the pieces together.

"She still said no." Dickie said, disbelief coloring his voice.

"I think that on some level, Cousin Violet does want to marry him. She's just afraid of the scandal. Considering her relationship with Igor was ridiculed in the papers, I wouldn't be surprised." Isobel mused quietly, marking her place in the book before putting it on the bedside table.

"But the scandal never mentioned their names." Dickie added, the confusion evident in his voice.

"No. No it didn't. But it was still a scandal." Isobel said softly, crawling underneath the covers as well. They were silent for a few moments before Dickie spoke up once more.

"What happens now?"

**•tbc•**


	11. How to Kill a Gallic Rooster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS NON-CONSENSUAL ACTS OF THE SEXUAL KIND. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ IT, FEEL FREE TO SKIP. THESE SCENES BEGIN ON AUGUST 20, 1858 AND END ON JULY 7, 1925.

_And when I'm feeling small_

_You get me through it all_

_Just like we were kids_

_Just like we were kids again_

**•August 20, 1858•**

_Manchester, England_

_"Do you ever think about marriage?" Robert asked suddenly, and Violet turned her attentions from the flowers to look at him in surprise._

_"Marriage?" She repeated with a sardonic laugh. "Whatever made you think of that?" Robert shrugged indifferently and Violet stared at him until he broke. Sighing, her companion shook his head._

_"The human mind often wanders, my dear Violet. In case you haven't noticed it," at Robert's somewhat harsh tone, Violet narrowed her eyes at him._

_"And what exactly are you referring to?" She shot back, a slight edge to her voice and Robert smirked in reply._

_"Do you not think of how much better off you'd be if you married someone with status? Someone with money? Someone with power?" The man's voice increased in volume after each question. "Or better yet..? If your father hadn't gambled away everything that could have gone to you and your sister?"_

_As his words progressed, Violet's lips had gotten thinner and thinner. How dare he? How dare he belittle her and her family like this?_

_In the heat of the moment and a rage like no other had filtered through her, she slapped Robert's face with a resounding crack._

_"Just who do you think you are?" Violet spat, gathering her skirts and beginning to walk away from him. She might have been successful had Robert not wrapped a tight hand around her wrist._

_She gasped in pain as she felt his fingers digging into her flesh, and Violet cursed herself internally for wearing such a revealing chiton. The redhead pulled her wrist back, attempting to squirm her way out of Robert's grasp. But it was to no avail._

_"Please, stop." She pleaded slightly, wrapping her other hand around the fingers that bound her wrist. As she tried to pry of his fingers, she felt his nails dig into her further until blood started to ooze out of tiny holes he had pierced into her. "You're hurting me," she looked up at him and was taken aback at how much his eyes has darkened in such a short amount of time._

_Robert leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "I know I am." And Violet inhaled sharply._

_"What do you want from me?" She all but sobbed. No matter how much she twisted and thrashed, she still couldn't escape from his iron-clad grip. "Robert, let me go!"_

_She was shouting now, but her pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears._

_Violet let out a shriek as her knees buckled and Robert fell on top of her, his entire body covering hers. He gathered both of her wrists in one hand, pinning her against the grass._

_The entirety of his torso covered hers, and Violet felt as though her lungs were closing in on her. One leg was on either side of her body, so he was straddling her and Violet craned her neck to avoid is penetrating gaze._

_"Please, stop!" She begged, the tears blurring her vision and threatening to spill. Violet cried out when Robert nuzzled her neck, and her legs started to kick. She tried recoil as she felt him bite the flesh at her collarbone, and Violet sobbed._

_"You think I don't know about Lord Downton," he growled in her ear after leaving several bruises on her neck. "What a fool you must be to think I would let you go so easily."_

_Violet let out another strangled cry as he pressed her wrists further into the ground. The lower part of her body started to thrash even more, her legs kicking and kicking in hopes of hurting him._

_"A family of their status would never want a bride who has already been... tainted." Violet's breath caught in her throat as he whispered these words to her and she shook her head frantically, causing her hair to fly in all different directions._

_Robert forced a thigh between her closed legs and Violet let the scream that had been bubbling up inside of her escape. He released one of her wrists to slap a hand over her mouth, and she protested violently._

_The neighing of horses could be heard in the distance and Robert froze, his grip on her loosening a considerable about. Violet took this opportunity to break free of his hold and run._

_She was barefoot, hair a mess, and she was sure her dress was ripped in more than one place. Dirt clung to the soles of her feet, but she could care less about appearances at the moment._

_Violet ran as fast as her feet could take her, trying to get away from Robert as quick as she possibly could._

_Violet Ames saved herself from ruin once, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last._

**•July 7, 1925•**

_The Library, Downton_

**5:00 PM**

"I found something rather intriguing," Rosamund began after sipping her brandy. Cora hummed her acknowledgement and Rosamund took this as her cue to continue. "I have a friend who happens to be publisher, and I managed to convince him to dig into the archives." Robert raised a brow.

"Do I want to know where this is going?" He asked flatly, to which Cora slapped him arm slightly.

"Oh, hush." The Countess admonished her husband before turning back to her sister in law. "You were saying?" Rosamund nodded in thanks and cleared her throat before speaking.

"He managed to dig a couple of things up... and many of these stories sound like a couple of Mama's experiences..." she trailed off and Cora raised a brow.

"You had a friend dig into the archives to find things out about Mama when you could just ask her?" Cora asked disbelievingly.

"Oh please. Mama wouldn't divulge any of her scandalous severest even if her life was on the line," Rosamund scoffed as she took another dainty sip of her brandy.

"Well?" She asked the couple eventually. "Don't you want to know what he's found?"

"I'm not sure I do..." Robert muttered into his glass, to which Rosamund ignored pointedly.

Cora shook her head gently and spoke up.

"I think there's a reason Mama chooses not to tell us stories of her past. We should respect her privacy and if she tells us, then she does. And if she doesn't, so be it." Rosamund sighed, her shoulders slightly slumped in defeat and nodded.

"Thank God for that..." Robert mumbled to himself, and sipped his brandy triumphantly.

And that was that.

**•January 1, 1900•**

_The Abbey_

**7:55 PM**

_Violet looked up at the sound of the library's door opening and smiled when she saw her husband enter. She rose to greet him, and he placed a small kiss on her lips._

_"Hello darling," he smiled gently, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist._

_"How was London?" She asked, smoothing the lapels of his coat. The Earl of Grantham shrugged._

_"It was alright," Patrick replied simply. "And Cora is simply such a sweetheart." At this Violet scoffed before untangling herself from his embrace._

_"The Queen of Sheba's offspring?" She asked, a slight bitterness coloring her voice. Patrick sighed heavily and rubbed forehead. Violet looked at her husband in concern. "Are you feeling alright?" She asked, stepping closer to him._

_"My head has been hurting for quite a bit." He said with a groan. The Countess brought her hands up to Patrick's temples, rubbing them gently in hopes to soothe the pain. "I haven't been sleeping very well lately."_

_Give him a chaste kiss on the cheek, Violet softly whispered in his ear, "Would you like to stay with me tonight?" And her husband responded with a light kiss to her pulse point. "I take that as a yes?" She asked for confirmation and Patrick nodded against her, his head between the junction of her neck and shoulder._

_"Have you eaten yet?" Violet said when he pulled away from the embrace some minutes later. "Should I have a tray sent up?" To which Patrick shock his head._

_"I ate with Cora on the train ride back. Darling, she really is such a nice girl. Why cannot you give her a chance?" Sitting back down on the armchair, Violet sighed lightly._

_"Just the idea of an... American Crawley rubs me the incorrect way." Patrick rolled his eyes at his wife's words._

_"You know, if you look past the fact that she is an American, I think the two of you would get along just fine. Cora has been trying very hard to get your approval. She hasn't stopped."_

_Violet opened her mouth to respond when the library's door opened once more. Carson stepped inside this time, carrying a silver tray with a single note placed on it._

_"This came for you Milady," he said respectfully, crouching down ever so slightly in order for the redhead to reach the note easily._

_Once said note was in her hands, Carson straightened his back, nodded to the Lord Grantham and walked out of the library as quietly as he came in._

_As she read the sender's name, Violet's breathed had hitched. Fortunately for her, Patrick had busied himself looking for a novel to read._

Lady Violet Crawley

The Abbey, Yorkshire

_Taking a breath to calm herself, Violet opened the envelope with (slightly) shaky hands._

_The letter was simple. Surprisingly simple. And it was enough for Violet to gasp. Patrick turned to his wife, eyebrows knitted in concern._

_"What is the matter?" He asked as Violet pinched the bridge of her nose. She looked up at the sound of his voice and shook her head weakly._

_"A childhood friend passed away recently," she lied. "That's the reason for this letter," the Countess elaborated, not wishing to worry her husband any more than she already had._

_"It's a bit of a shock," she added, though quite unnecessary. Patrick nodded his head in agreement._

_"Seems like it was, considering your reaction." Violet chuckled shakily and smiled before shoving the paper into the back of her novel._

_"Were you close?" Patrick asked suddenly, and Violet looked up._

_"Who?" She responded quickly, tilting her head slightly to the side._

_"This... childhood friend of yours," he explained, pouring a glass of brandy for her and himself. The Countess smiled appreciatively as she took the glass, sniffing the liquor lightly before taking a small sip. "Were the two of you close?"_

_At the repeated question, Violet shook her head._

_"No. He was a boy Veronica fancied. We've crossed paths but never really spoke." She took another, larger sip of the drink, wrapping her fingers around the wide rim of the glass to keep from shaking._

_Oh, how she hated lying to her husband._

_"Was Veronica the one that became a lady's maid?" The Earl questioned, playing with a curl that had come loose from her bun._

_"No, that was Vivienne. Veronica is Susan's mother." Patrick hummed in response, nodding slowly as he did so._

_"Susan is turning thirty six this year, and I believe she married Lord Flincher's son. What was his name?" She touched a finger to the space between her brows as she tried to recall the young man's name._

_"Hugh MacClare?" Patrick tried. Violet snapped her fingers._

_"Yes! Hugh MacClare. That's the boy's name. I think Victoria is absolutely ecstatic that her daughter now has a chance to live in luxury. And now, she herself can as well, by association." The man nodded, and the couple fell into a comfortable silence, the letter trapped between her book pages had been temporarily forgotten._

_That was until Violet spoke up once more._

_"But I do hear that Vivienne is the Duchess of Cornwall's new lady's maid." Violet said off-handedly._

_"Well that's good for her," he mused. "Not so much for you, is it?" At this, Violet looked up at him in question._

_"Whatever do you mean?"_

_"Having your sister as a lady's maid while you're a Countess? Wouldn't that be terribly awkward?" Violet shrugged her shoulder delicately._

_"I wouldn't know. I haven't spoken to Vivienne properly in years. I think she's still holding a grudge against the fact you chose me over her." Violet said quietly, as she thought about her rather mousy older sister._

_"It's such a shame, I preferred her over Victoria." Her husband commented and Violet smiled sadly._

_"Yes, most people did. They found Victoria too proud for her own good, considering our living situation at the time."_

_"Except for my mother," Patrick quipped, to which Violet grimaced. She never liked the old woman, and she knew that the late Lady Grantham felt the same way about her._

_"Oh, don't remind me." Violet groaned slightly, masking the bitterness in her voice with a sip of brandy._

_"Shall we go say hello to the children?" Violet asked, changing the subject quickly. "They've been asking for their Grandpapa all day. Sybil especially."_

_Patrick nodded before finishing the last of his drink. He offered a hand to his wife, which she took gladly._

_Violet grabbed her novel from the desk and held it loosely against her stomach as Patrick wrapped an arm around her waist._

_"Have you been spending time with the girls?" He asked against her temple as they walked out of the library._

_"We were outside for most of the afternoon," Violet started. "Mary wanted to go horse riding while Edith and Sybil simply wanted to play. So we decided to stay out for a bit."_

_"Poor Edith, always terrorized by Mary." She said as they walked through the Abbey's long hallways._

_"It's just a bit of sibling rivalry," Patrick assured her, and Violet shrugged. "They'll grow out of it soon enough."_

_"One can only hope," Violet murmured to herself as they pushed open the doors to the Great Hall._

**8:20 PM**

_Violet sat up in bed later that night, knowing that her husband would be coming in soon. She toyed with the corners of the book she brought with her, thinking about the letter from earlier._

_The redhead opened said book, to the page where her note was shoved in._

_She unfurled the paper that had been crumpled in the pages, and tears of frustration threatened to fall from her eyes._

_When the click of the door knob sounded Violet frantically swiped at her eyes and tucked the letter back inside, snapping her book shut._

_Patrick smiled as he entered her bedroom, a look of amused concern passed over him._

_"Are you alright, darling?" He asked lightly and Violet sniffed._

_"Of course I am," she chuckled. Her husband crossed the room to stand over her. "May I help you?" She questioned, amusement coloring her voice._

_He responded with a loving kiss to her forehead a Violet couldn't help but smile._

_Oh, how far they had come after all these years._

_"I'm exhausted, shall we go to bed?" Patrick offered, and Violet nodded gratefully. Her eyes followed her husband's form as he walked over to the other side of the bed._

_Once he had settled under the thick duvet, Violet did the same with her back facing him. The redhead smiled when she felt Patrick spoon up beside her, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her head._

_"Good night, my darling," he whispered gently._

_Violet fell into a fitful sleep, her subconscious managing to escape the haunting words of her letter._

Lady Grantham,

I would have stayed in France for the rest of my life.

But you took my heart.

And rest assured, I will be taking yours.

**•end part two•**


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